


The Cavern of Time

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Series: Natasha of Asgard [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Adventure, Asgard, Complete, F/F, F/M, Lady Loki, Natasha of Asgard series, Pirates, Pride and Prejudice - trust me, Smut, Teacher / Student, Vampires, Vikings, because why not, but with a glorious purpose, rockstar - Freeform, sexing it up through the ages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 67,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki's mischief causes Natasha to disappear into the past. Now he must seek her through the ages in the Cavern of Time, before an old enemy reaches her first. Blackfrost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Natasha of Asgard

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE - This book is the third in the Natasha of Asgard series, after The Q Word and The Tail of the Dragon. 
> 
> Rated M for smut and some violence.

**Natasha of Asgard**

* * *

 

When Loki walked into the tower room, his wife was already there leaning out of the window with a telescope in her hands. He crept up behind her, barely breathing as he reached out to touch the curve of her backside, temptingly close under a single fold of thin silk.

"Don't grab my ass just now, Loki," Natasha warned without turning around. "I'm observing."

He sidled a bit closer. "Perhaps I am observing as well." Each day Natasha wore a different set of racy underthings, and he was dying to know what was under her skirt. It was like an unopened present just waiting for him.

She crossed one foot over the other and he got a glimpse of satin slippers tied with ribbons as well as her seamed stockings. "The fields below have started to yield their crops, and I wanted to see if there was something we could do to increase your farms' output here near the castle. The people need more food and wealth, and if I could perhaps introduce better fertilization, a fallow system, or mineralizing crops…  _what_  are you doing?"

Unable to help himself, Loki started to raise the layers of her dress. "I am listening to these very interesting ideas of yours. Fertilization, you say? Fascinating." The truth was he craved the feeling of her flesh next to his. She felt so alive, so filled with energy and calm self-possession.

Natasha twitched the material from his fingers. "You're such a fraud. Good thing you're sort of cute - in a certain light, at least."

"It is your fault, darling. You hide these presents from me each day and I just cannot wait to see what is inside." With one wave of his hand her skirt disappeared in the back, revealing the stockings, garters, and the fancy shoes. "Hm, most appealing. How could you expect me to wait? What a silly idea to try and hide this."

"Another dress ruined! I suppose you never had Christmas, so Mama Frigga didn't have to try and hide your presents. You'd be the sort of dreadful child to go and root them out in October…oh, I must say that feels very nice."

Loki breathed with laughter and passion right in her ear. "What happened to your underclothes, you naughty girl? No, do not try to turn around. I have been thinking about your derriere all morning – so round, so tempting…"  _So alive,_  he mused as slid his hand between her legs. The real truth was at times he could imagine a future bleak with loneliness, when Natasha would be white, cold, and still. When those visions assailed him the only cure was to find her and connect their bodies, to reassure himself she was his, she was next to him, she would be there for many years to come.

"If by underclothes you mean panties, perhaps I forgot them when I was trying to run away from you this morning to get dressed. If you insist on chasing me while I get my clothes on you can't expect me to – damn it, Loki! Now? Really?"

Her husband leaned over and bit her neck sharply enough to make her squeal. "Just keep looking out of the window, darling, and I will take care of things here. This, for example – do you keep getting tighter? Ooh, and warmer? You will be the death of me."

Natasha put down her telescope, leaned back into his thrusts, and gasped. "And do you keep getting bigger? And more passionate? I thought by now you might be slowing down – oh, my."

"Oh, my," he echoed. "Just think, anyone spying us from those fields of yours would think we are a respectable pair, certainly not coupling in plain sight by the light of day…"

The thought must have excited her beyond reason; Loki groaned as she flung her head back, eyes slitted with pleasure, and pushed her firm bottom against him. "Now!" she screamed. "Do me now!"

"Now," he growled and bit her again as he took his wife in the soft light from the window, spilling himself into the flesh he loved beyond all telling.

* * *

Dressed in a new gown and silk slippers, Natasha trailed into the large study she shared with Loki. "A delivery has arrived. More wedding presents."

He looked up from his book. "Oh? That sounds tedious. Probably more mounted bilgesnipe, if I know the Aesir."

"And diadems. Seriously – what do you  _do_  with a diadem?"

"I think you are supposed to put it on your head," he answered cautiously.

"Hm. Now, if they sent me fertilizer for the farms, or perhaps garters or stockings, that would come in handy – unless you can use a diadem as a garter. And don't start to get ideas, Loki - stay right there and let me breathe. In fact, I just made up a new rule – you're not allowed to attack me again until I get one thing accomplished in between bouts of getting laid."

"Rules! Those are made to be broken, by me at any rate… oh, very well."

"Shift over," Natasha ordered and squeezed next to him in the large armchair. Instantly their cat, Blot, jumped up and began to rub its head against Loki's elbow.

"Why does the creature always insist on climbing up on me?" Loki wondered.

"Because you don't pay any attention to him." She scratched the cat between his ears, and Blot assumed a smug smile. "Cats love people who play hard to get. And now, let's get the presents over with. C'mon, you do this pile and I'll work on these."

Loki groaned, put his book to one side and pulled the lid off a huge box. "See? This is bilgesnipe, just as I conjectured. Well, its horns at least."

"Maybe you can keep them as spares," Natasha snickered. "And here is a diadem, just as _I_ guessed. Amazing, isn't it? Don't the Aesir use towels? Where do you buy a towel in Asgard anyway? Ooh, look – books!" Eagerly she held up a pile of volumes. "Those will come in handy – but what have you got there? You seem thunderstruck."

Loki sat very still, holding a small casket. "It is from the All-Father."

He showed the contents to her, and she frowned. "Apples! That's - interesting. Never saw those on any registry list before…Loki, what is the matter?"

"They are not just apples." He held one up, examined it in the candlelight, and his voice became a whisper. "See how it glows to look almost golden? These are the apples of Idunn."

"Oh." Natasha cautiously brushed the fruit with one finger, and their eyes met. "Loki, what does this mean?"

Reverently he put the apple back into the casket, closed the lid, and placed the box on the table before he crushed her into his arms. "It means I can give you immortality, as is the dearest wish of my heart!" His voice sparkled with excitement. She tried to speak but he took her face in his hands and stared into her eyes intently. "I try not to, Natasha, but often I picture you not moving – not breathing – taken from me for all time. This means I do not have to worry any longer…darling, this is the greatest gift anyone could have given me."

Natasha disentangled herself and looked at the casket. "Are you certain it's from the All-Father?"

"Here is his letter. Take a look for yourself – it is marked with his royal seal."

"Hm." She held up the parchment. "I feel funny about this - maybe because I have been bio-engineered already. I really don't want to mess around with my DNA any more than it already has been."

"No, hang on just a minute." Loki stood and flung out one arm. "You cannot compare the feeble medicinal compounds of Midgard with this. These are  _the apples of Idunn!_  I was actually scheming to steal some for you myself soon, but I was already caught doing that as a youth and it would be incredibly difficult to try it again. To have them delivered straight to my castle, to our door, is a wonder beyond all telling!"

"To have them delivered to our door is _suspicious_  beyond all telling," Natasha countered. "Wouldn't the All-Father bring them himself if they are as precious as you say?"

"I doubt the All-Father will ever visit my castle. In any case, you have nothing to fear – I will bite your apple first to make certain it is safe."

She rose and walked in a circle. "It just doesn't feel right. Loki, we are lucky to have any time together as it is. Can't we just be happy with that?"

A fevered, desperate look came into his eye. "No! I cannot sleep at night. The thoughts torture me… you simply cannot understand how short these days together are. They might seem endless to you, but having already lived for centuries, they flash through my fingers like smoke and I cannot hold onto them."

"Okay, hush now." Natasha put her arms around him and forced him to stop so she could kiss the worried lines on his forehead. "Don't work yourself into a fury and have a fit. If you do, you'll waste some of the time we do have, Loki."

"Do not try to placate me. I fail to see why you will not simply eat one small apple. What could be the harm?"

"Oh, dear, now you're getting angry." Natasha sat again and regarded him with a twinkle. "Next you'll stride around the room wearing holes in the new carpet or even worse, call me 'Madam'." Loki stopped, his mouth open. "See?" she continued. "You were about to say it just now, weren't you?"

"Maybe," he replied haughtily. Her twinkle increased, and at last he burst out laughing. "But this is what I mean!" he said once he sobered. "Who else knows me so well? I am afraid…" He got on one knee in front of her and reached for her hands. "I am afraid of myself, of what I might do if you are not with me any longer."

"But I think you're not giving me enough credit. Bruce told us we have several centuries left at least, which might be just enough time to teach you not to wreak havoc on the Nine Realms." She gave him her secret smile. "Let's stop worrying about this for now and finish the other gifts. In the morning we can talk about it again over breakfast."

"Over breakfast," Loki echoed softly. "Very well, darling – I will listen to what you say."

* * *

That night he made love to her again and again, as though he could not get enough. Natasha displayed her extreme flexibility, stretching her legs over his shoulders, bowing her body into a perfect arch, undulating her hips to tease him to more and more peaks. When at last they both exploded in final surrender, shivering so violently she could barely hold him in her arms, he gasped words of love into her ear until she fell asleep.

She awoke a few hours later. Loki was shouting, screaming her name and thrashing among the pillows. "Hey," she said softly. "Loki."

"Natasha!" He sat up and looked straight ahead with unseeing eyes. When she carefully placed one hand on his chest he wrapped his long arms around her waist and put his face in her lap.

"Shhh," she soothed him. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."

* * *

In the morning he woke her with a tray filled with her favourite just-baked bread, fruit, and a goblet of something cold. Blot instantly jumped up and padded over to investigate. "What's the occasion?" Natasha asked, pushing her hair behind her ears.

"Perhaps I have taken your advice to live life to the fullest." Loki winked at her. "Eat up, darling, and perhaps we can take a ride through those fields of yours later."

"Hm." Natasha wasn't one for breakfast in bed, but she did want to work on what she called the 'Castle Loki Project'. "Very well, but I also want to review the accounts, go over hiring staff, and I think we may need a hospital nearby eventually for safer childbirth."

"Yes, yes." Loki sat on the edge of the bed and fixed her with his gaze.

She put down her bread. "Okay, what is it?"

"Nothing, love. Did you not mention we needed to visit the Palace in the capital as well?"

"We do, but it doesn't have to be today…" Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she took a sip from the goblet. "I do need to send a message to Midgard with Thor, though, and Jane was promising…" Natasha broke off and her eyes widened. "Loki, what's in this drink?"

He leaned forward and curled his fingers around her ankle under the blankets. "Do you like it? To tell you the truth, I added something special to it. Do not be angry with me – I tasted the apple myself first, just as I vowed."

" _What_  did you do?" she gasped. "I feel weird. Something's wrong." It seemed the room in front of her was flashing in and out of reality, as though she had taken some strange hallucinogen.

"I put in just one drop," he vowed. "It might be odd for a minute, but – Natasha!"

"What's happening? I can't see you!" The room in front of her wavered, and she felt everything grow fuzzy. The last thing she saw was Loki's look of horror. She heard him screaming her name as everything turned white, dissolved, disappeared.

* * *

After a period of blank nothing, she opened her eyes again. Her clothes were rough and homespun, and thick grey clouds gathered overhead. For some reason she lay on a hill looking at the sky, only certain of one thing: she was Natasha of Asgard no longer.


	2. The Cavern of Time

**2\. The Cavern of Time**

* * *

As Loki leaped forward to seize Natasha in his arms, she grew unfocused, unsubstantial as a phantom. Before he could grasp her to push on her belly and make her vomit up the potion he himself had given her, his wife disappeared. The goblet in her hand fell to the blankets, splashing orange liquid all over the sheets.

Loki was frozen with horror for one moment before pure, black rage took over. "No!" he shouted. "Natasha!" His breath whistling in his throat, he ran out of the room and down the hallway to the main stairs, raving to himself. "No. No. This cannot be happening. She must be somewhere else. I have to be asleep. She must still be here…"

He ran through deserted breakfast rooms, salons, libraries, and studies, throwing open doors and screaming her name again and again. At last he had to stop and crouch in one corner, to shout with anger and horrified despair. His most terrible, private fear had just come to pass – Natasha was no longer there, and worse - he was the cause of her disappearance.

Sick, fevered flashes of memory passed through his mind.  _Her face, telling him not to trust the gift of the apple. Their bodies together, making love. His nightmare of reaching for Natasha in their bed and touching a cold, stiff corpse, a death's head beetle scuttling out of her mouth. Waking early and stealing downstairs while she still lay asleep. Slicing into the firm flesh of the apple and eating a slice to test it. Squeezing one golden drop of the fruit into her goblet. Her small hands, lifting the drink to her lush lips._

"Sir? Are you quite well, my lord?" A serving girl stood in front of him, wearing a look of concern. Loki had no idea how long she had been there, witnessing his breakdown.

"Get out of the room before I throw you out," he snarled. A thought struck him and he stopped. "You! I am off to Asgard, to the Palace this very instant. Make certain someone takes care of the cat. He is very dear to …" His voice dropped. "He is very dear to my wife."

Loki dashed one hand across his eyes and strode off to the stables.

* * *

At the Palace, there was a long gathering at the council. Queen Frigga stifled a yawn in her fist and assumed a look of interest as the speaker, a courtier from Vaneheim, concluded a long speech about trade discrepancy.

The tall doors to the chamber were suddenly flung open. Prince Loki marched into the room, ignoring the protests from Odin and the murmurs from the assembled council. "My mother the queen," he declared. "I must speak with you now."

"There is plenty of time for conversation anon," Odin insisted.

Loki's glance was murderous.  _"Now,"_  he repeated, and he held out a long arm to beckon to Frigga.

The Queen looked around the chamber. "I think it is best I discover what he wishes," she whispered. Quickly she took Loki's arm and followed him out of the huge hall.

When they were alone, he drew her into a small niche. "Mother, I need your help."

It had been a long time since she had seen that look in her son's face – the mute cry for appeal, his eyes bright with desperation. "What is it? Is all well at your castle?"

"No, it is not. It is all my own fault, as usual. This morning I gave Natasha one drop of the juice from the apples of Idunn…"

"What?" she gasped. "How did you get them? Loki, did you steal the fruit from Idunn's garden? This could be disastrous."

"They were a wedding present from the All-Father!" he shouted. "We received them yesterday, along with diadems and bilgesnipe horns… no matter. The point is, she drank one drop of the juice and – she disappeared. She is gone. My Natasha is gone!" He rose from his seat and ripped a dagger from his sleeve. "If I cannot find her, I will plunge this into my heart, and I beg of you to allow Thor to pulverize my head to finish the job…"

"Hush. Loki, listen to me. I can tell you for a certainty that the All-Father did not send you any apples."

"But he did. See, here is the casket with one still inside, along with his parchment. It is signed with Odin's own seal."

Frigga took the small box and looked inside. There was one apple within, shining gold under the skin. "What enchantment is this?" she breathed. "For this did not come from our hands, Loki."

He stopped his pacing. "Was it sent by an enemy? Who would do such a deed?"

"Just a minute." The queen held up the parchment to the light from the tall, thin window within the small space. "Let me have a look … could you conjure me a lighted candle?"

Instantly one appeared in his hands, held in an ornate candlestick. "What is it? Do you see something?" Eagerly he leaned over her.

"Do not actually drop the wax on me. Now, let us discern if there is magic here – yes, I can feel it. Can you?"

"By the Gods!" Loki reared back. "I can. Why did I not before?"

"And there is something written here: look, the words are appearing under the heat from the flame. 'My second gift for the Impostor Wife'. Loki, my son, these are indeed dark doings!"

"Angrboda!" He jumped to his feet and prowled in front of his mother like a caged tiger. "How would she – why would she know what I would do? That it would be my sweetest dream to extend Natasha's life to the length of my own, so we could live together throughout the ages instead of seeing myself severed from her like a hacked-off limb? As I am this  _instant_?" Loki shouted the last word, raising his fist and the candle to the ceiling. "Prepare me an army, my queen. I intend to route out the foul witch for once and for all, slay her as slowly and painfully as I can, and thence repeat the procedure on myself."

"Loki." Frigga rose and put one hand on his arm. "Listen to me – no, do not shout any more, it will do no good. I believe there is a way you can find Natasha and get her back, but it will require a great deal of magic and effort on your part. The chance is slight, but if the fates are with us you may be able to regain your wife."

Loki's eyes widened and he grasped his mother's arms with both hands. "Is there?" he panted. "Is there a chance for me? Because I am about to lose what little is left of my sanity otherwise."

"You will have to go to The Cavern of Time. Natasha is lost in the past, and if your fate has already mingled with hers within the ages, you can find her again and bring her back with you. I fear it will be a long journey and there is naught you may bring with you, save one thing she gave you. Did she ever offer you a gift?"

"Her likeness." Loki snapped his fingers and the old photograph from Midgard showing Natasha at the end of a mission bearing her signature smile appeared in his hands. "Will it serve?"

He looked on anxiously as Frigga closed her eyes and held her hand over the picture. "Yes, this is perfect. I think nine will do – yes, it is the number that speaks to me. You must cut this into nine parts – three by three. As you find Natasha in the past and win her to your side, you must give her one part of the picture. When she has the completed image, you may be able to draw her back to your side here in Asgard. You will not remember these words until you have wooed her – only when you cleave together with her will you be able to give her a new piece of the puzzle."

"Three by three," he repeated. "Yes, it makes sense - Angrboda's last enchantment was three parts. This is evil times evil."

"Do it here." Frigga indicated a small table, and he made several precise cuts with his dagger. She kept one hand on his shoulder, wishing she could send him her strength, her unwavering belief in Loki's basic character.

* * *

When he was finished, the pieces of Natasha winked up at him as though she was saying 'Get your shit together and come and find my ass.' He couldn't help smiling at the thought despite his overwhelming worry she was lost to him forever.

"My son, this is a black day indeed. Go with my love and wishes for your success and remember – you must win Natasha to your side in each century when you find her. Only then will you recall this present age and what has occurred."

He gritted his teeth and pulled Frigga close for a quick embrace. "I will succeed," he vowed, "and I will return with her to Asgard." Quickly he let her go to find the fastest steed in the stables so he could ride with all speed to the Cavern.

As Loki ran out of the palace, a thought occurred to him – he had forgotten to give Frigga his thanks. "Later," he vowed as he jumped into Sleipnir's saddle.

With a long whinny, the eight-legged horse reared up. Perhaps sensing the urgency of its rider, the beast went straight into a full gallop.

The Cavern of Time lay close to Vanaheim in the center of the Asgard Mountains. A forsaken hole, it was surrounded by dark forests and deep undergrowth. Loki drew up his mount and jumped off Sleipnir's back. "I'faith, I do not know how long I will take, my son. If you grow weary, return with all speed to the Palace."

With a final pat, Loki ran into the cave. He conjured a ball of light in his palm so he would be able to see his way. The Cavern itself was large but not overwhelming – however, it was what lay in its center that made the place so terrifying.

There, a huge, bottomless hole awaited in the dark like a spiderweb or sinister trap. Loki held up his light and looked into the mouth of Time. With Thor, he had hung over the Void and deliberately let go to drop into space itself, and yet this was worse. For the Void was filled with stars and planets, but the Cavern of Time bubbled with strange wormholes through the fabric of matter and simultaneous, alternate universes. Below Loki's gaze stars exploded, fell in on themselves, and resolved into black holes. Colours, those never seen in any of the Nine Realms, blossomed from dying galaxies.

Natasha was in there, somewhere, hidden in the past - within nine ages. He had to believe it was true. "For you, my own heart, my darling girl," Loki muttered, and he jumped off the side to cast himself into the dark, swirling depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Starbooks13 for the lovely comment and the tissues!


	3. The Stone Hold – West Coast of Ireland, 1006 AD

_**(First Piece)** _

Natasha lived in the remains of the village. Everyone else had been slaughtered by marauders fourteen months earlier; she had escaped by hiding in the smoot bolthole under her family's house. While the invaders slashed down men, women, and children alike, burning all dwellings in their wake, she had bitten her arm to stop crying out with fear. Natasha covered her face with a wet shawl not to die in the flames and billowing smoke.

And thus she survived.

Over a year later her situation was still just as perilous. Any day a chance rider or traveler could discover the little town was not, in fact, abandoned and haunted – any minute she could be hauled off as a slave or worse.

The thought made her frightened during the first months; later she became angry. Natasha searched through the ruined houses and discovered what few weapons remained. Haltingly at first and then more and more sure of herself, she learned how to wield a knife and staff, to hide from above and drive a blade between the ribs, to whirl in leaping arc and thump a skull on the way down. She practiced on the small game in the woods for both food and protection, she practiced on broken furniture, she practiced on herself. There was no one else.

Natasha had to negotiate other dangers: she feared she might lose her humanity and become like an animal, thinking only of meat and survival. So she tried to keep as clean as possible, and when the rain poured down so neither man nor beast could step outside, she ran to the Stone Hold and sheltered there, reading the forbidden manuscripts sheltered in the ancient library. She only knew a few words at first, but slowly more and more of the writings made sense to her as she persevered with the gloriously illustrated works.

A second winter slowly passed. The weather grew wetter but also warmer, and she spent a few stolen hours on the highest hills feeling as though she was in the middle of a cloud.

The mist surged past her and slowly faded. A few shafts of sunlight came out, and she came out of her reverie. In the middle of the fog a tall figure appeared, wearing a rich cloak and a horned helmet.

Natasha screamed and jumped to her feet; the figure started as well. "I did not expect to see anyone here!" a deep voice said in her own language, uttered with a thick Norse accent. She poised ready to run, but the voice continued, "Stop. Do not run away. I promise I will not hurt you."

"Who are you?" Her voice was husky with disuse. It had been more than a year since she had talked to anyone.

The figure stepped closer. "They call me Loki. I was given the name after the god of mischief, and my mother says it fits perfectly." The dark stranger grinned, and she could see he was a lad not much older than she was.

"Why are you here?" she asked, trying not to shiver with fear.

"They sent me from the longship to go and scout. If I find a rich village, I am supposed to tell the warriors to go and destroy it."

She shouted with fear. "There is no one here! No riches, no gold, no wealth."

"And where do you live, then?" With a quick movement he pulled off his helmet. Underneath, Loki's hair was as black as a well inside a cave.

She hesitated. "I am not going to tell them about you," he insisted. "For one thing, the warriors are idiots. They pitched me out straight into the waves to find what I could for them – that group of huge, hulking blond oafs."

"Are you Viking?" The question tumbled out of her mouth. "Please do not eat me."

He laughed at that, his eyes crinkling with mirth as he displayed white teeth. "I am not going to eat you. But please tell me – where do you live?"

The days and nights of scratching a living on her own, of struggling to stay human, all threatened to overwhelm her. "I live on my own," she whispered. "A horde of Basternae invaded and killed everyone, including my mother and my sister. Our house was burned to the ground while I hid."

The boy called Loki gave a sharp intake of breath. "I am not going to do that, nor will the idiots in that boat if I have any say in it. But what is your name?"

"Nualah, but I was called Natasha before everyone was killed. It is a Dacian name."

"Natasha." Loki tasted the name like a sweetmeat on his lips. "It is pretty, like you."

With a cry of rage she jumped to her feet and shook the dagger out of her sleeve into her hand. "That is enough! No need for your jokes and fooling. I know full well I am the last person to be called pretty. My mother used to despair – she said I had the hair of a witch."

Loki grinned. "It is bewitching, but hardly witch-like. And you may put away your dagger – I am actually telling you nothing more than the truth."

He reached for one bright ringlet on her shoulder, but Natasha twitched away from his fingers. "How do you speak my language?" she demanded.

"We invaded the other side of your country and bore off something extremely precious called a Book. The elders of my own country wanted to burn it, but I insisted on reading the manuscript and learning the words. Later it was sold by my father for gold. I wish he had kept it."

"A book?" Natasha felt a smile come, unbidden to her lips. "Do you have to return to your ship this minute?"

"No, indeed. The oafs will be breaching the kegs of mead ere long."

"Then," she said in triumph, "I have something to show you, if you promise to keep it a secret."

* * *

The stone hold was on the other side of the hill, well hidden within the woods. Loki exclaimed in surprise when he saw what lay within: the stacks of neatly folded sheepskins emblazoned with words, with knowledge, with rhymes and tales and mathematics. Natasha laughed as he exclaimed and carefully lifted one of the manuscripts to look at it more closely.

"That is one of my favourites," she declared. "It is a story of Cu Chulainn, the chieftain, and Emer, the princess he married."

"Can you read it?" Loki lifted one enquiring eyebrow. "In my country only noblewomen learn letters. Are you a princess?"

"I am not," Natasha laughed, "just as you are not a prince."

"But I  _am_  a prince," he declared.

"Ah, get away," she mocked. "And I am Emer herself."

"But I really am!" He twitched his brows together. "A younger brother, it is true, so do not get too excited. And I should imagine Emer looked something like you."

"Humph. A young prince with a silver tongue in his head for spinning nonsense."

He came closer and seized her arm in a painful grip. "Why do you not believe me? I am a prince, and you  _are_  pretty. In faith, you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen."

Natasha wasn't quite certain how to respond. Her mouth fell open, and they stood in silence for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. "What will happen to you? Living on your own must be fraught with danger. And if another longboat comes to this shore, I would not give two jots of hacksilver for your life." His expression filled with curiosity and something else.

She turned away from him. "You need not remind me. This is why I have grown wild, hiding in the hills and going out only by night for food, holing up in here when I think it is safe."

"That explains the untamed look. You remind me of a songbird, caught in a thorn bush. You cannot go on as you are for the rest of your life."

"I can, I will, and I do," she argued.

He smiled, making his cheeks crease with dimples. At that, she realized how handsome he was – dark as a Celt, but with those green eyes and a wary look, as though he well understood the horrors she confronted each day. At the same time, he seemed quite arrogant, which perhaps bore out the 'prince' story. "What are you thinking on?" he asked.

Blushing, she turned away. "Nay, 'twas nothing. If you like, you may return to your ship with several of these manuscripts. You can read them before your father sells them for gold."

Loki froze again. "Would you really do that for me?" he asked. "I thank you, but it makes no sense. The warriors would rush in to seize the rest of the books, perhaps burn them, and enslave you in the bargain. I am worried for your safety. You have no idea how savage they can be, and it sounds as though even worse pass by in your own land."

"I am well aware I live with borrowed time. Who knows better than me what it is like to take each breath, wondering if it will be my last?"

"If anything happened to you, I would kill the swine who did it and throw myself off a cliff." Loki's whisper was very intense, and his eyes never left hers.

Natasha tried to retreat. The conversation blossomed with unbidden meanings and had gotten completely out of hand. "It is said men swear fealty to women when it serves their purpose, but it becomes a weight around their necks later," she declared.

"No." He strode forward and put his hands on her waist. "If you become betrothed to me now, I can bring you back to my country and to safety. It is impossible for me to leave you now – I would wonder forever what had happened to you and not knowing would slowly kill me. Please, Natasha, will you promise to be mine? For your beauty and wit have enslaved me…"

"But we are not acquainted!" she cried.

"But I think we are, and I think you know it. Here, give me your hand." He put her palm on his breastbone, and she felt the wild beating of his heart. With a sigh, knowing she was taking an irrevocable step, she felt for his hand and placed it on her collarbone so he could touch her racing pulse. And at that moment it almost seemed he was right, that they had stood together thus in another world, another time, but when and where it was she had no idea.

"May I kiss you?" Loki whispered. She didn't reply, and he carefully leaned forward. Her breathing sped up, threatening to overwhelm her, as Loki's lips carefully brushed hers.

"Mm!" she couldn't help saying. "I thought a kiss would be cold and wet, but your lips are soft and firm on mine."

He laughed at that. "May I do it again?" Natasha lifted her head, thinking how warm it had become inside the stone hold. Usually it was cold as a grave.

Loki kissed her lingeringly, and with a start she felt his tongue on her mouth. "You just licked me!" she said in surprise.

"You were too delicious not to. Give it a try, love, and see for yourself."

That thought, so strange and alien, made Natasha feel – something. Yes, something was happening to her, and it seemed too late to turn away from it. Her hands slid up Loki's neck to frame his face, and she tasted his tongue again on her own, moving inside her mouth so she thought she might faint from the sensation.

"Please, let us become betrothed," he whispered right in her ear. "It is the only way I can guarantee your safety on my ship and give you passage away from here."

She started away from him. "What do I have to do?"

"We must lie together, so I can show proof to the Vikings on the longboat you are mine and I am yours."

Her temper flared and she slapped him across the face. "You are after my maidenhead!" she shouted. "By rights it is the last thing to belong to me, and you would steal it to run back to your country? Leaving me out of wedlock and with a baby like as not. I'll not put up with your lies, and I can promise you as much."

"No need for that!" he shouted back at her. "You  _must_ know I would not leave you alone – did I not just promise to take you to my country to live by my side? And this is the word of a prince! But perhaps you would prefer to stay here in your deserted village – fodder for any passing tramp who takes you by surprise! Eh? Is that what you want?"

Natasha struggled, but her face crumpled with tears. "Why did I have to survive?" she sobbed. "'Twould have been better if I had been cleanly slain or burned alive rather than surviving in this purgatory. What will become of me?"

Loki stood, stunned, before he put his arms around her. "We will find another solution. I can bring you now to the ship, but the warriors will certainly beset you as soon as you set foot on board if you are not promised to me. Indeed it is a tangle, and I must think to find a way forward for us."

Natasha couldn't help wrapping him in her arms as well. He felt so right, somehow, next to her, and as he bent over her she lifted her face. Their lips met again, and in a moment she found herself in the middle of one of the tongue-kisses he had just taught her. In fact, her body seemed to betray her; she lost control of her breathing and gasped as he kissed her neck, biting the skin at the base of her throat. "Oh!" she said. "That feels nice. Do you like it when someone does it to you?"

"No one has ever done it to me. Perhaps you would like to try?" In response she nibbled his neck and his earlobe, making him groan. "Natasha, I will lose my mind with love and longing. This is taking my breath away."

"And mine too," she admitted. "I must say I do like the licking kisses."

"Mmmm," he moaned. They were standing so close Natasha could barely remember where she was. Who, for example, was running her hands through his long black hair? Was that her? And was it his legs between hers, spreading her thighs so he could stand even closer? And were they tumbling to the floor, Loki lying right on top of her? It seemed it was so.

"More," he gasped. "I want more. Beautiful wild bird, my untamed beauty, alone in the wild, just for me to find. With one look you captured my heart."

"Prince from another land, arriving to steal my kisses and my breath with it. Could I just touch you here?" Carefully she ran her hands under his shirt from where it rucked up, making him shiver wildly.

"By the Gods of Valhalla! You may do what you like with me. And may I touch you here? Just once – I promise it will feel nice…"

Loki's hands roamed her body, exploring places she never knew she had. Somehow her legs were around his waist, inviting him closer. At length she realized something was happening to him, and she pointed to it. "What is this called?"

"My  _styri_ ," he gasped. "It is made to plunder your  _daeli_."

"Oh. Could I just see for a moment?"

He stared at her, thunderstruck. "Who is seducing who, exactly?"

Natasha blushed. "I did not mean to be impertinent, but it just feels so hard and long. I would like to see what it looks like. I like weapons, you see."

Loki fumbled with his breeches. "Weapons! This is a different sort. Odin knows you may look at me, but will you not show me your body as well?"

"I do not know…"

"Just for a moment we will trade glances of what lies below our clothes, and perhaps kiss, and if you do not like it we will get dressed again." His voice had assumed a pleading tone, as he blew on her neck again and bit the soft skin.

"Yes, very well. Just for a moment." Natasha untied the strings of her chemise and pulled it over her head; his eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight of her heavy, upright breasts.

"Natasha! You are so beautiful! Like a goddess, it is the truth. Be mine, lovely girl, and kiss me again, just lie down with me like this…" Frantically they resumed their kissing. She felt herself start to shake, and he was trembling as though with a fever.

"He is prodding me," Natasha giggled. A moment later she gave a little scream. "Oh, by all the saints! What just happened?"

"'Tis just the tip," he vowed. "Do you like it?"

Natasha could barely breathe. "It is strange," she breathed. "A part of you is inside me. Perhaps you could try just a bit more…"

He made a strangled sound and slowly slid inside her. "Valhalla," he said. "You sheathe my sword like a champion. Natasha, you have stolen my heart."

Loki began to move slowly inside her as he resumed his frantic kisses, and gradually the strange sensation of having a living male within her grew pleasurable so that Natasha was able to lock her legs around his hips and move in tandem with him. It was ecstatic. It was fire. It was forbidden, overwhelmingly exciting. "Something is going to happen," she gasped. "So – oh – no – Oh! Loki!"

She plunged as he thrust into her, shouting her name. They toppled to their sides, shaking, and were so entranced by each other they couldn't move, just gaze. "Loki," she whispered. "Did you just take my virginity?"

He smiled and nodded. "Yes. I hold your maidenhead. But I pledge my love and my heart for all eternity in return. You have entranced me, little wild one."

Natasha carefully smoothed a strand of black hair off his face. "Today you have changed my life. I woke up with nothing, and now you have given me everything."

"I have one thing more." He drew a silver ring off his finger and held it out to her. "Wear this as a token of our betrothal and these promises to each other, so everyone will know you are mine." He gathered her close and whispered, "I will not have any other man touching you from this day forth. You are my woman for the rest of our days, until we follow each other to Valhalla."

"Are you certain?" Natasha felt shy. The ring was so lovely – a spiral of silver with a moonstone in the center. "I never wore anything so precious before."

He gave her a sly look. "Nor did I – for I am still wearing you. Look." He indicated where their bodies were still joined on the stone floor.

She blushed, and he seized the moment to slip the ring on. As he held up her hand to admire his ring on it, Natasha frowned. "This feels familiar," she admitted. "It almost seems we have lain here before in each other's arms."

Loki rubbed his cheek against hers. "Yes. I  _do_  know you – but how? I have never been to your land before."

"And yet I fell in love with you in a moment."

"And I love you – Natasha!"

"Loki!" Her mind swirled with recognition.

Moving as one, they sat up on their knees and clasped each other. "I  _do_  know you," he repeated. "You are my own true love, and I nearly lost you."

"Where are we?" Natasha looked around. "How did we get here?"

"Through dark magic, darling, and the Cavern of Time. But I fear our time together here may be short. I must first give you this…" Carefully he handed her a small colored square. "Keep this very, very safe. I will meet you in another time and place."

Already she was beginning to fade from his view, and he rained kisses on her neck and hair until he was left alone on the stone floor, with nothing but the sound of the wind to answer when he called her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to samdram1, Starbooks13, and emlawrence for the lovely comments. We're starting a wild ride...


	4. Young Prince Loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki continues his search through time for Natasha.

**The Palace at Asgard, 333rd Odinsleep, Heyannir**

* * *

**Second Piece**

"But I already have the answer!" Prince Loki cried enthusiastically, breaking into the fat tutor's lecture. "Look." He held up his parchment, showing a long line of reckonings.

"Loki, you are interrupting, and it is Prince Thor's turn first. Thor, what is the answer?"

"I have no idea," Thor laughed. "I would simply smack the fellow with my sword and run off with the goods, perhaps send payment later."

"That is an excellent response," the tutor bowed.

"But…" Loki protested, and he was hushed again.

"It is time to move on." Petro shuffled his scrolls.

"Prince Loki does have the correct answer, Father," Natasha stated. She sat at a separate table, but her vision must have been clear enough to read the columns of numbers.

The tutor rounded on her. "Who asked you to speak, daughter? Learn your place and be quiet!"

She nodded and bent over her papers, but when Petro had turned back to the brothers, Natasha caught Loki's glance and winked. He had to stifle a burst of laughter since he didn't want to get the girl into further trouble; as well, he felt a bolt of something like recognition inside. He and Thor were the best of playmates, but at times he felt as though no one really understood him other than the Queen. So to receive a look of comprehension as well as a friendly look from someone his age was a welcome surprise.

The tutor droned on about the rotation of the realms and the changing connections along Yggdrasil's roots, and Loki studied Natasha covertly. She was reading a book, and it seemed to hold her interest. As he watched, a faint flush of colour filled her cheeks and made her bend closer to the words. One red curl slipped out of her severe topknot and framed her face when she picked up a quill and wrote a few words down, perhaps a few notes about what she was reading.

"And perhaps you can tell us what is scattered in the grass near Urd's Well, Loki?" Petro asked. The tutor had a gleam in his eye as though he was certain he had caught the young prince without the answer.

"Hnefatafl gamepieces," Loki answered in a bored voice. He already knew the material for the lesson – had read the books years ago – and he couldn't wait until the end of class.

Except for one thing. When he gave the correct answer and Petro responded with his usual exasperated sigh, for once Loki had a reward. Natasha gave him a sidelong glance under her lashes and spread her lips in a slight expression of amusement – a secret smile. It was the best part of the day yet, and once the class was finished Loki determined to find her and talk to her in a place where they wouldn't be interrupted by her fat father.

As soon as the lessons were over, the prince was approached by his brother. "Shall we go for a ride into the Plain of Ida?" Thor suggested.

"You go. I have something else planned." Not waiting to see Thor's reaction, Loki stalked off to the kitchens, intent on stealing something to take with him when he found the girl. There the staff, red-faced from the heat of the ovens, were baking bread and roasting large haunches of ox for the night's dinner.

"Those loaves are about to burn." Loki pointed to one of the ovens.

Mitral, the head cook, put her large fists on her hips. "Do not try to trick me again, young prince. I have had it with your sneaks and slips in my kitchens – bloody Hel! The oven  _is_  on fire!"

Loki grinned as the staff rushed over to rescue the bread. Quickly he filled a large napkin with marzipan sweets, small buns, and tiny pastries. Before anyone could shout at him, he whisked out of the warm room and was gone.

* * *

Petro lived on the outskirts of the forest near the Plain of Ida. Prince Loki decided the easiest way to arrive was by magic, and so he transported himself near the tutor's cottage.

The large man was just leaving, and he shouted to Natasha one last command. "Make certain it is finished before I return or there'll be another thrashing for you!" The door slammed shut, the man locked it, put the key in his pocket, and strode off.

Loki waited for a few minutes before he strutted up to the door, opened it with a simple spell, and headed within. There Natasha sat, grumbling over a piece of linen and a needle she was using without very much success. As Loki entered she looked up with a shocked gasp before scrambling to her feet. "Your Highness!" One white hand went to her chest. "My apologies – you startled me. I thought you were…"

"You thought I was your father." He frowned as he took in the tearstains on her face, as well as a large, red mark on one cheek. Certainly it would be bruised in a few minutes. "Did he do this to you?"

Natasha put down the cloth, scrubbed at her cheeks with the backs of her hands, and forced a smile. "It is of no consequence. I am used to it. But I must finish this sewing before he returns, or it will mean more of the same."

"Sewing? That sounds unbearably tedious. Show me." He tilted his chin, thinking a bit of arrogance would allow him to get his way.

"Tedious is the word, and I am truly awful at it. I already bled all over the corner – I only hope I can wash it out in the stream or under a pump…"

His only response was to gesture with his hand, demanding the cloth. Unwillingly she brought it forth, and a most bedraggled, sad-looking object it was. Loki began to snicker. "I think Thor himself could do better! You may be the most intelligent girl I have ever met, but housework is not your talent."

Her eyes blazed and she snatched it back. "Did you come here to tell me that as if I did not know it already? I have to cook and clean for my father, and one day I shall have to do it for some lazy Aesir and get his boot in my rump, like as not, on a nightly basis. Thank you for the reminder, Your Royal Doltishness."

Loki doubled over with laughter. "I like you," he gasped. "And by the way, have a look at your little project."

Natasha's mouth fell open. The linen napkin was clean and completely sewn with neat, even stitches. With a sudden bound she threw her arms around the prince and breathed, "Thank you! Thank you!" Remembering herself she let go of him and added, "I have four more to do like this, so I had better…"

He tossed a shower of sparks on the table and four identical napkins appeared, clean and neatly folded. "There. You have finished. Now we can go out and have a talk together, which is what I wanted all along."

Her lips quivered and she favoured him with her secret smile. "Do you always get what you want?"

"Yes, usually. And when I do not, I consider it a special challenge." He motioned towards the door, and Natasha followed him outside. "Why did you speak up for me during the lessons today?"

She headed for a rough path through the trees. "I am tired of your being overlooked. You always have the answer ready first – every single time – and yet it is Thor who gets the credit."

Not hesitating, he followed her. The trees grew thicker, and the air was dark within the depths of the forest. "But most maidens sigh over my brother. 'He is so handsome!' 'He is so muscular!' Ugh."

She shrugged. "Do they? Humph. I suppose if you like that sort of thing… I prefer boys who do not resemble large haystacks on legs, but that is just me."

Loki realized he was wearing a huge grin. Life was a bit lonely in the huge Palace; Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun all followed Thor. There had been that affair with Sif, as well – once the prince realized the blond beauty was in love with his brother, he had worked a long, terrible piece of mischief and paid the heavy price for it. Now Sif had black hair and blamed him; her eyes flashed with disgust whenever she saw the younger prince.

But Natasha seemed to see the world differently from everyone else. He suddenly desired to know all about her, to discover what she thought, what her dreams were. "How did you learn letters?" he asked. "Your father hardly seems the sort to teach you to read."

"No," she laughed. "Still, his job as your tutor gave me access to books I would not have otherwise. I suppose I just picked it up on my own, since I wanted to discover what the little marks meant on the parchment pages." A white flower grew on one of the branches, and she stopped to smell its fragrance, going up on tiptoe. "In the future, if I want to attend your lessons I will have to keep my mouth shut. Otherwise my father will have me sent to the kitchens."

Loki grasped her arm. "No," he insisted. "I will make certain you are there with me during each lesson. Now, let us sit and eat these treats I have brought for us to share."

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Loki and Natasha devised their own silent code. As they sat through the boring lectures, she winked at him twice. He responded by clearing his throat, which meant, "Two of the clock? Very well, I will be ready."

Once the lesson was over and her father off to the tavern, Loki came by the house and finished her chores for her with his magic. That gave them several hours to skip off into the woods and talk, read, write, or simply chase each other around the massive tree trunks in a simple game of Hide and Go Find. The winner always got the chance to demand a forfeit, which made the babyish game much more fun.

They were in the middle of the third round, and Loki was It. His brows knit together; Natasha had hidden so well he could not find her. At last she jumped down from an overhead branch, crowing with victory. "Ha!" she said. "You might try looking up once in a while."

"We never said we could hide in the trees," he protested.

"And we never said we could not."

"That is cheating!"

"No," she insisted. "Just because I have the quicker wits…"

"Oh, no, you do not!" He chased after her and captured her against one of the mighty oaks. "There, see, now I have you, and you cannot get away."

Her eyes sparkled. "Yes, I can!" She twisted to one side, but he put his arms on either side of her.

"No, you cannot. See? I am the victor." As she twisted again, he stepped forward to press her against the tree with his body.

Natasha was laughing, but Loki suddenly felt serious for perhaps the first time in his life. As she regarded him her smile died, and the woods seemed to grow very quiet. He flicked his gaze to her lips, so lush and sweet, and she did the same to him.

That was all Loki needed. He had never kissed a girl before, and he decided it was time. Moving his hands to frame her face, he gently covered her mouth with his, keeping his eyes open so he could watch her reaction.

Natasha's lashes fluttered with shock, and a bolt of lightning shot through Loki's body. She seemed to feel the same way he did, and a tiny whimper escaped her throat. He felt something strange, an unknown sensation come over him – all he knew was he wanted to be very close to her.

With shaking hands he gathered Natasha to his chest to continue the kiss. As she gasped, her lips parted; hesitantly he licked her bottom lip. She seemed to like it, and with a bold move he slipped his tongue inside her mouth; when her tongue met his and flickered against it, a series of fireworks went off in his head. "Valhalla!" he panted, breaking the kiss. "I never felt anything like that in my entire life!"

"Nor I," she said softly. "You taste like smoke and spice. Could we do it again?"

"Oh, yes." Loki kissed her passionately, and she wound her fingers in his hair. Time seemed to slow down as they bit and sucked each other's lips, and his heartbeat threatened to eclipse him.

At last she firmly pushed him back. "My father will be home soon," she whispered, "and I would receive a thorough whipping if he knew."

The last thing he wanted was to let go of her and stop those magical kisses, but he nodded. Winding one arm tightly around her waist, he walked with her towards her cottage. "I want you to live at the palace," Loki growled. "These hidden moments are torture."

"It would be worse there," Natasha argued. "We have no one here to watch us, but there are plenty of spies and hidden eyes within the capital."

He had to agree to the sense of it, but a flash of anger bolted through him. "Still, one day I will demand you are moved to the rooms next door. We are allowed consorts when we grow older, and I want you to be mine."

"Consort! What is…" She stopped, and pointed. "Loki – my father! He has returned early!"

"Not to worry. I will transport you inside, into your bed. He will never know." A shower of sparks came up from his fingers, and Natasha disappeared.

* * *

Loki walked home alone, taking his time so he could think about the kisses. It was incredible to him that he would hold a girl and she would want him to, that her body would respond as his did. A groan escaped him as he felt the strange sensation overtake him again; simply by thinking of her lips under his own, his leather breeches grew impossibly tight.

He knew he wouldn't make it all the way back to the Palace in that condition, and so he plunged into the woods, opened his pants, and released his hard member. There, alone in the wild, he grasped it, threw his head back to stroke himself with a blinding rhythm and spend a long torrent of seed all over a moss-covered stone. "Natasha!" he shouted during the release. "Natasha!"

* * *

By a long planned-out series of tricks, Loki was able to secure a woman for Petro. He bribed the prostitute to seek the tutor out at the tavern and pay for all the drinks; she would have a large tip, he added, if she managed to keep him in one of the bedrooms upstairs all night. The tall woman agreed, tossing her long black hair over one shoulder and snatching the filled purse from his hand.

When it was time for lessons, he felt his heart in his throat threatening to choke him as Natasha walked into the room and took her usual seat. He knew he was gazing at her and he tried to hide behind a large book. When he caught her glance she gave him a wink; as her father turned away, she licked her lips slightly.

Instantly he felt himself grow hard again. The lessons seemed to drag on forever, compounded by the glances he exchanged with Natasha whenever they could manage it.

As soon as the last lecture was delivered, Loki leapt from his seat. Thor, however, detained him with one hand. "It is many weeks since we went for a ride or a hunt, brother. How about today?"

Loki's brain seethed with lust. "Tomorrow," he said vaguely. "Let us plan a long ride then."

Thor fell back, disappointed, and Loki escaped to his room. There he changed quickly, hands shaking at the thought of what he was doing. If Old Petro was gone all night, Natasha could stay with him until dawn. That would mean he could kiss her all night, and perhaps she would let him…

The very thought was enough to bring him to the edge. Making certain no servants were around, Loki locked the door, pulled down his breeches, and brought himself to ecstasy once more in front of the mirror.  _Soon,_  he thought,  _it will be her hands on my body._

* * *

As soon as he strutted into her cottage, Natasha dropped the dustcloth and ran to embrace him. "I could hardly wait to see you – Mmmm!"

Loki kissed her deeply. "I felt the same way - as soon as we parted I wanted to be next to you, Natasha. Tell me, will you stay with me all night?"

"But my father…"

Quickly he interrupted to fill her in on his plan. Her eyes widened. "What if someone sees us?" Her voice was breathy with fear.

"They will not. I will create a magic tent in the forest for us, as well as food, wine – what would you like best?" He kissed her again and pulled her to the door onto their own little path.

Within the forest a small, white tent was set up. Inside a lantern glowed with a yellow light, and there was a table set with luscious fruit, a jug of cold, spiced wine, and more of his favourite pastries. Loki strode in, handed her a goblet and poured them both a drink. "Here is to these stolen hours," he murmured, "all the sweeter for being forbidden. Now, will you sit and talk with me for a while?" He threw himself into a chair, spreading his legs wide.

Natasha followed and sat next to him. "I am a bit frightened," she said slowly. "I do not know why, but I have a feeling something is amiss."

"Nonsense. If I know that whore – I beg your pardon. If I know that lady of the evening, she will do whatever she can to keep Petro away from us for the entire night. Natasha, I promise it will be safe and we can stay here for as long as we want."

She took a long sip of the wine, choked, and giggled. "As long as we want? Maybe we can make this tent our home, how about that? I will scold you when you put your boots up on the bed, and you can demand a hot dinner."

He sat forward eagerly. "But I like this! I will go hunting for dinner and…"

"Oh, no. If you are on a hunt, I will come with you." Her eyes twinkled and she held out her palm. "Let us go and see what we can find, shall we?"

Hand in hand, Loki and Natasha crept out. With his magic he created a few surprises for her - a basket filled with nuts hanging from a branch, a blue ribbon for her hair tied around a tree stump. She jumped on them delightedly and her laughter echoed through the forest; he thought he had never been so happy.

Once she found the final gift, a small wooden box, he put his arm around her shoulders and whispered in her ear, "Let us go back home and you can open it there."

Inside the tent he felt almost nervous, and his hands shook as he pushed back the hair off his forehead. "Can you discover the secret?" It was delightful to watch her probe the little box, seeing the rise and fall of her eyelashes until she found the trick.

The box opened, and Natasha removed the silver ring with a long sigh of disbelief. "Loki, it is beautiful! May I – may I put it on?"

"I suppose you cannot wear it in public just yet, but yes. Yes, of course." Loki couldn't help stepping behind her to wrap his arms around her waist from behind. She felt so warm and – alive – next to him, and he leaned in to kiss her neck.

Natasha turned, looked up into his eyes, and wrapped her arms around him. "I thought about our kisses all day today," she confessed.

"So did I. Lessons seemed endless."

"Did they not? I thought my father would never stop prosing on about Asgardian policy."

She smiled at him, and Loki lunged forward to capture her lips with his. Instantly his body responded, and hers seemed to as well – she pressed herself to him and deepened the kiss, allowing him access to her teeth and tongue. After a few minutes he felt bold enough to try touching her breasts with his hands, to run his fingers along the sides and, when she did not complain, to touch the tips and the hardening nipples, fully evident under the thin cloth.

Natasha broke away and stared at him, eyes wide. "What – what is happening? Is this more than one of our games, Loki?"

He wanted nothing more than to seize her again, but he knew he had to step carefully. "I suppose it is more serious now. Do you mind? I want nothing more in this realm than to lie with you, Natasha. It is the dearest wish of my heart."

"But I could get with child! Or we could both be punished – and me far worse than you…"

"Not if you are mine. I will announce it to the All-Father tomorrow. Yes, I have just decided – I want you as my royal consort this instant, with no more waiting. You will move to the Palace and live in my rooms, and we can kiss and play together all day, every day. Enough of meeting in the woods for a few hours." With a rush his body trembled with desire, and he gasped, "I want you – I have never wanted anything more."

Her blue gaze was very direct. "And my father?"

"If he stops being a fool for three seconds, he will realize the honour I am giving him by taking his daughter for my own within the royal palace. Listen, love, think of it – but while you do, please let me kiss you once more." Hungrily he recaptured her lips, and once more she yielded to him. Loki kissed her again and again, slid his hands down her back to capture her firm backside, rubbed his erection against her, and as they tumbled to the floor he created a feather mattress with a silk coverlet and thick pillows for them to lie on.

There he was able to slide over her thighs, to spread them and lie between her legs. The feeling was incredible. Having a yielding maiden in his arms was more than a dream come true – Loki felt powerful, mighty, as strong as Thor himself. He imagined he could do anything with Natasha at his side. "By the Gods!" he exclaimed. "I have never experienced anything like this. You are so beautiful and wise, all at once. I am falling in love with you, Natasha."

She moaned and arched up to kiss him again. "I love you too," she whispered. "I felt it as soon as I met you for the first time. You are so different from the others – perfect for me. And no one else seemed to notice how original and wonderful you are."

"Just you," he chuckled. "That is why you are wise."

She grinned and bit his lip slightly. "I do want you," she confessed. "I do not want anyone but you."

"My love," Loki whispered. Carefully he slipped her sleeves down to suckle the rosy tips of her breasts, and she cradled his head there. After a few moments she whispered, "Loki! Something is happening to me! What is it? It feels like a fever."

"It is the love fever," he grinned. "It gets better – just wait." With hasty movements he stripped off her dress and pulled off his breeches and shirt. "Now, darling, are you ready? For I am desperate for it."

"What do I do?" Natasha's eyes were filled with fear and desire, both at the same time.

"Lie down, thus, and let me on top…" Loki carefully positioned himself at her entrance. In truth he had no idea how it would work. Would her body simply suck him inside? Or would he have to push? Would it hurt her? "Tell me if it pains you…"

Her folds were wet and slick, and his tip slipped right in. Loki nearly shouted from the sensation; it was overwhelmingly warm and delirious, unlike anything he had ever experienced. "Oh!" he cried. "My love, I did not mean to…"

"It is so strange! But sweet as well – like a bath, so hot it is nearly painful and yet I want more." Natasha shifted under him, and his eyes nearly left his sockets when he felt her legs wrap around his waist.

At once he sank his entire length into her. With that she cried out, bit her lip, and squeezed her eyes shut. "Please look at me, my love," he begged. "I want you to watch me make love to you."

"Yes, very well, it just hurt for a moment, but now it feels – oh, so strange. And so lovely at the same time." Natasha recaptured his lips and kissed him, stroking his tongue with hers in the rhythm of their coupling.

Loki felt himself grow harder with her soft hands on his thighs, her walls clenching around him. "It is so close," he panted. "I am going to come."

"What does that mean – oh! Loki! What is – oh!" Natasha's body reared up, and at the same moment he shot his release into her, hot uncontrollable spurts of his seed right inside her.

Arms tightly around each other, they rolled and bucked together, gasping words of love and each other's names. Loki collapsed on her chest, trembling with the force of his release and the fact of what he had just done. He had seduced a girl – and not just any female, but the one he loved, the girl he had fallen in love with almost from the first moment he met her.

* * *

They fell asleep together, and Loki dreamed he walked next to Natasha in a small suite of rooms in the Palace, ones he had never seen before. The chambers lay behind an enchanted shield, and it was impossible for him to escape. "So _you_  were my first," he told her. "You were my first all along. But why did I not remember it?"

Natasha shivered. "I don't know, but to tell you the truth, I'm worried. There's something dark coming. Quick, give me the piece of the picture before it arrives…"

Regretfully he found the little coloured square and handed it over before bending to kiss her again and again.

* * *

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Jolting awake, Loki's heart sank when he looked up into his tutor's furious eyes. "What the Nines are you playing at, boy? And with my own daughter?"

Behind him stood the hired prostitute, her long dark hair hanging over one shoulder and a look of triumph in her eyes. "I told you all night!" Loki shouted at her, trying to pull on his breeches as quickly as he could.

"I want the bigger prize – and I will have it." The whore smiled back with some sort of veiled knowledge in her eyes.

Petro hauled Natasha to her feet and slammed his fist into his daughter's jaw. "Slut!" he shouted. "Strumpet!"

"Enough!" Loki caught the man's arm. "She will become mine with the approval of the All-Father. If you apologize to my promised woman, I will allow you the undeserved glory of being the father to the consort of the prince, with all that it entails."

"She has already been compromised," the whore declared, pointing to Natasha's blood-streaked thighs.

The girl brushed a tear away with a trembling hand and turned to Loki. It broke his heart to see the trust and love in her eyes. "You said you would bring me to the palace," she whispered.

"It is too late for that – she has already brought shame on your surname. The only cure is an Unwinding." The whore pointed a long, thin finger at Natasha, and Loki started forward.

"No! What are you – she is my consort! She is  _mine!"_

A long, thin tongue of flame shot out from the whore's finger to consume Natasha's body, and the girl screamed in pain. "Soon she will no longer exist," Petro said coldly, "and you will not remember her at all. This will never have happened. I have no daughter, and you have no consort. You will return to my classroom – alone."

Loki tried to reach her, but already Natasha was like smoke disappearing before his eyes. His fingers slid through the air, and she was gone.

The whore – or had she ever been so? Was she not a witch instead? – and the tutor watched as the young prince fell to the floor of the forest. "Nata…" He stopped. Already he had no memory of whom he wanted, or what had just happened to him.

All he knew was he had experienced something beautiful for a few precious moments, and now it was gone. Shaking with rage and despair, Loki knew he was completely on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to tobemadeofglass for the lovely comment.


	5. The Wicked Count – France, 1644

**The Third Piece**

Holding a small pile of snuff to his nose, the Comte inhaled delicately, dusted off his flared nostrils, and regarded the letter in his hand at arm's length. Outside, the green scenery rolled by, just visible from the window of his carriage. "The affianced Child is Eighteen," he read, "a tractable age, and you may Teach her as you Will. I must add she is Quite Attractive with long Red Curls and skin the colour of Cream. With the unlikely name of Natasha, you might imagine Slavic money behind her, and so is The Case – her Family is Wealthy which will aid your own Finances…"

With an exclamation of disgust, the Comte threw his father's letter to one side.  _I refuse to marry an infant,_  he thought.  _I have my own amusements, and marriage is the last thing I need or desire._  The vision of his latest mistress, an exotic maiden with the unlikely name of Ange d'Abode he had installed in an apartment in Paris, flitted through his mind and he smiled. Certainly he would not give up his wanton desires nor Ange. Although the chestnut charmer herself was becoming tedious, demanding more jewels and insipid lapdogs…

The carriage jolted to a halt, stopping his fantasy, and he shouted with annoyance. "What the devil is forward?"

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but there is a young person in the road," the driver said.

"Tell them to go away," the Comte began when a girl ran up to the side of his carriage.

She thrust her head inside and immediately began to talk in long, garbled sentences. "I am so very sorry! I did not want to stop you, but where was there to turn? Mother and Father are both dead, and my Great-Aunt says I must marry the wicked count. Doesn't that just give you a shiver – the 'wicked count'? Sounds like something from a novel, does it not? If I read novels, which I do not. I am not allowed anything more than improving lectures. But of course I could not stay to be sold to the highest bidder…"

"My child," the Comte interrupted, "two things. First, take a breath before you expire, and second, be aware my driver can hear every word you say." He raised his glass and flicked a gaze over her; she was a very young girl with long red curls and skin creamy as new milk. A thought suddenly struck him. "Did you say the 'wicked count'?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Apparently he is given to all manner of seduction and keeps several mistresses…"

Aware of the interested eye of his man, the Comte opened the carriage door with a curse. "Get in, chit, before you and I are the talk of the county! Lavellere, drive on this instant."

The girl climbed in with alacrity and settled herself on the seat opposite. She bounced several times and nodded approvingly. "Isn't this comfortable! Great-Aunt's carriages are very stylish but miserably hard. I could barely feel my bottom after our last drive from the city."

The comte felt a great snort welling up in his chest. "Who are you? Please do not tell me your name is Natasha."

That stopped her stream of voluble confidences. Her mouth hung open for a moment, and her cheeks grew pink. "Please do not tell me you are the wicked count!"

He could hold back no longer; the comte erupted in a long bout of laughter. "Behold the devil himself," he said with a wicked gleam. "'Twould seem you could not have had worse luck when you flagged down a carriage."

She looked down at her tiny lace gloves, and her lips spread in a hidden smile.  _A secret smile,_ he thought. Only someone looking for it would see it. However, when she recaptured his gaze, her eyes were very blue and very direct. "My aunt told me an untruth," she stated.

"Oh? And how was that?"

"She said you were ugly, and that is not the case. She also told me you were old and bad-tempered, but you have a nice loud laugh."

He gasped. "A nice loud – is that what you like in a man?"

"Oh, I do not know." Natasha blushed again. "I went to school with the nuns, so there were no men there beyond Monsieur l'Abbe, and one could not fall in love with him, of course."

"Of course," he agreed gently. "But did they teach you to talk of your bottom when you attended this school?"

"Bottom? Of course not! I never mentioned…" Her breath hitched, and she covered her mouth with one hand. "Oh, I did talk about it, didn't I? Please do not tell my Great-Aunt."

"It is our secret." The comte regarded her closely as she relaxed and watched the scenery slide by with interest. She was a strange one, unlike any female he had ever met. He was used to desperate flirtations followed by passionate affairs with angry endings, but he had never been amused or interested by any female before. He had no idea what to make of her. The little, red-headed Natasha was the most original girl – nay, person – he had ever encountered. "And where were you heading to, may I ask?"

She gave him her attention again – that flash of a gaze, so blue a man could lose himself in its depths. "I stole my aunt's watch," she confessed. "I was going to sell it and with the proceeds travel to Paris, where I planned to become an opera-dancer."

"But I must argue with your plan. I can assure you the very last thing you want to become is an opera-dancer. Nor," he added as she opened her mouth to protest, "would you enjoy the life of a governess or a bonnet-maker. May I bring you to my country house instead, for the moment, while we decide on another plan?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You will not seduce me?"

"Of course not! Technically, you know, you are my betrothed. One does not seduce one's fiancée."

"Why not?" She cocked her head to one side, like a curious sparrow.

"Because it is going to happen in any case. Why waste the time?"

"Oh." She seemed to reflect further. "I do not know what to call you. Great-Aunt always calls you The Count of Mischief, but it seems rather rude."

He found another bubble of laughter rising in his chest; really, he had never been so entertained. "But it is perfect, you know! Have you e'er heard of the Norse Gods? There was one…"

"But yes!" Her eyes filled with enthusiasm, and she sat forward on the seat. "I always loved those stories. Are you thinking of Loki, the god of mischief?" She flicked him a little sideways glance and added, "He was always my favourite."

Warily he eyed her. "Are you  _certain_  no one ever taught you how to flirt? I have encountered king's mistresses who cannot match your appeal… but no matter. Why do you not call me Loki, since he was your favourite?"

She favoured him with the same secret smile and nodded. "Yes. Loki. I like that." Unbidden, she bounced again on the seat. "And, I have just thought of something. Great-Aunt cannot mind if I visit you, is that not so? She cannot lecture me or …" Her bottom lip trembled, as though she had just recalled something. "She cannot," she finally stated.

Loki raised his chin to look down his nose at her. "Child," he ordered, "allow me to see your hands."

"No." She shook her head.

"Do it, or this carriage will take you straight to your Great-Aunt's house this instant."

Her eyes widened and quickly she stripped off her gloves. "There."

Leaning forward with one of his quick gestures, Loki seized her hands and flipped them so they were palm up. Several red marks cut across them, and there were other scars of old whippings beneath. He felt a terrible fury seize him, and he couldn't stop himself from raising one palm, then the other, to his lips.

Natasha withdrew her hands and clasped them on her lap out of his reach. "I begin to see why you are called wicked," she stated.

"I am not going to seduce you, as I said. However, neither will you return to your house. I will be in touch with your Great-Aunt, and you shall stay with me."

"Can we do that?" she asked wonderingly.

"No, of course we cannot. There will be all kinds of scandals, and a retinue of shocked gentry will write to me threatening me with banishment. And worse, I shall have to stay in a Godforsaken guesthouse."

"Oh." Natasha's blue gaze didn't waver, and she finally stated, "No, I will go home. Perhaps if I am very swift and return her watch, no one will notice. I do not want you to be banished or involved in a scandal."

"You do not want to involve me in a …" Loki closed his eyes with grim humour. "No girl of eighteen has ever said that to me, to be sure! Ah, Natasha," he added, "I fear you have set me topsy-turvy. I meant to end our engagement, and now I am just as determined to pursue it. We will hire you a duenna – an old woman who will drive us both mad with her attentions – and we will thus preserve your innocence, my child. That is," he added, "if you will agree to marry me. I will not force you against your will."

"Oh!" A tiny frown puckered her creamy forehead. "But what of your mistresses? Although I suppose you can keep seeing them …"

"No!" He sat forward again. "If you marry me, you will have any other 'arrangements'. You will be mine, and I will be yours, and that is the end of it. I will claim your love, and you will claim mine. Can you agree to it?"

Natasha looked up at him, her lips trembling slightly, her eyes wide with fear. "Is it so intense, marriage?" she whispered. "I thought it was more of a formal agreement, afterwards we do as we please…"

Loki snorted. "Yes, that may be, but 'twill not be so in your case."

* * *

He settled Natasha in his house and installed himself in a nearby boarding house. Each day he rode the distance to visit, and in doing so discovered what an excellent horsewoman she was. Despite her shabby mare, she was able to best him in a race.

"But you are too good for this donkey!" Loki declared as they trotted home together, rising and falling in the saddle. "I would love to mount you. Tell my steward to give you the pick of my stables."

"For shame!" she laughed. "Are you disparaging my own Rocinante? She may be a tired old armchair, but I have known her all my life." Natasha tossed back her long red curls; they made a splash of colour against the severe dark jacket of her riding habit.

"Have pity," he countered. "When you ride a true horse you will be a Centaur, a budding Diana. I fear no one will be able to catch you and you might gallop on up to the stars, leaving us mortals here behind."

She gave him a sidelong look. "Is that the way you talk to your mistresses?"

"What did you just ask me?" He couldn't help a gasp of laughter.

"Well, it seems the sort of thing a man would say to a woman to get her to yield to him. And as you pointed out when we first met, you do not have to worry about that with me, so I suppose you might just be practicing for your next journey to Paris."

Violently he pulled his large grey to a halt and caught her reins with one gloved hand. "Enough!" he shouted. "You will not speak thus any longer to me, do you understand? Or I will take you over my knee and give you a thorough spanking!"

"Ah," she replied, well satisfied. "Now you begin to speak as yourself again. Let us have no more of Centaurs and stars – such talk is like a cake of sugar, sickly sweet and melted away in a moment."

Loki stared at her, frowning in confusion as she fixed him with her own direct, blue stare before wheeling the mare and trotting off. She was a conundrum, he thought – seemingly so simple on the surface but with subtlety and fire in her depths.

* * *

Her great-aunt came to visit, and Loki tired of the woman in three minutes. She carried a long lorgnette on a stick to peer at the objects in his drawing room as though she coveted his estate. Another hour proved that, indeed, was the case. When at last she left, her watch in hand and an insufferable sneer on her face, Loki strode up to Natasha. "How did you put up with the woman for months?" he demanded. "I was about to lose my mind after another second."

"Was it so very bad?" A gurgle of laughter bubbled in her throat. "I am so sorry! But did you see how she looked at the marks on the silver? She reminded me of an old crane, waiting to swallow a frog. Look, Loki, she did it like this…" Natasha held up an imaginary glass and pretended to leer at a priceless vase.

He threw his head back and shouted. "Yes!" he said when he had control of himself again. "That is exactly what she did. And did you see her eat all the macaroons when she thought no one was looking?"

A long snort erupted from his future bride's nose. Loki found it eminently satisfactory.

* * *

While he prepared for a huge ball in her honour, Loki felt he was forgetting something. There was a point of business he had overlooked, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it was. As he played chess with Natasha one evening and argued over moves and whether or not she had cheated, it niggled him until she made him laugh and he forgot all about business and everything else save her blue eyes and red curls.

Natasha insisted she was the winner and demanded a prize. Loki pulled off his emerald tie-pin and held it out to her, but she waved it away. "I do not want such a thing – what would I do with it? Pin up my garters? For shame sir." She ended with a come-hither glance and gave him her fingers to kiss, and he pressed them to his lips, inhaling her clean, soft fragrance. Before he left her for the evening, she stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "By the way, I actually  _did_  cheat at the game."

"You little minx!" He reached for her, but she evaded his arm and ran up the stairs, her merry laughter echoing down to the hall. Loki stood and watched her until she was out of sight, his hands on his hips.  _By all that is holy,_  he realized,  _I have fallen in love with the girl._

* * *

Loki returned to his dreary rented room and spent the night writing a sonnet. The words flowed from his pen, but when he reread them they seemed dire, inappropriate for such a bright creature as his Natasha. At last he flung the papers in his hearth and slept for a few hours, dreaming of strange things: a stone keep filled with manuscripts, a white tent in the woods, a picture cut into nine parts, a girl eating an apple and disappearing from his sight.

"Natasha," he gasped and sat up. The slant of light proclaimed it was late morning, and he hurried to wash and dress with the help of his valet. The man muttered it was impossible to deliver the proper starched smooth fit of his shirt in such a place, but Loki told him to go to the Devil and handed him a few gold louis to placate him.

The instant his man allowed him to leave he flew to his horse and galloped to his country house, feeling a rising sense of excitement. Within the long, tree-lined avenue he saw a bright flame out of the corner of his eye, and he pulled on the reins to jump out of the saddle.

Natasha was within the wood, holding a posy of violets in one hand. She sang a soft song in the English tongue, something about Greensleeves – a melancholy tune. When she heard Loki's greeting she stopped and turned with a welcoming smile in her eyes, scattering the violets to give him her hands to kiss. "I thought you were a fire under the boughs," he exclaimed, "or a flower turned to the figure of a girl, with hair like the fox."

She waved his words away. "Save it for Paris," she scoffed. "And will we play chess again tonight?"

Loki frowned as he followed her to the avenue, and as he seated her on his horse a strange thought occurred to him. Many times he had made women blush by paying them outrageous compliments and pretty turns of phrase without thinking of what he said. And now, when he truly meant it at last, Natasha did not  _want_  to hear his words.

* * *

He continued to work on plans for a huge ball to announce their betrothal, making certain every family for miles around received an invitation. Loki sent to the finest dressmakers for Natasha's gown, adding shoes, stockings, and laces to his order so she would sparkle in new finery when the county made her acquaintance. He was determined that she would cut a dash and set the fashion for years to come; he had no doubt when the local youths saw her she would be surrounded by an admiring throng.

At that point their little hidden reverie would end, but he knew there was no other choice. Natasha was too lovely to be hidden in his pocket, and so he had to let her fly for a spell before they began their marriage.

Loki had a golden bracelet and an elegant holder of roses delivered to her, but as he approached his own house he stopped to pick a few of her violets in the wood. When he dashed into her dressing room, he held out the wildflowers and presented them to her with a bow.

He had meant to offer a little speech of greeting as well, but one look and he was speechless. Her dress was white, low cut, exposing the white skin of her shoulders and making her blue eyes very deep. She was so lovely Loki found himself entirely tongue-tied for once; all he could do was bow and mutely hand over his little spray of blossoms.

"Oh!" Natasha thrust aside the ornate roses and sniffed the violets rapturously. "How lovely – my sincere thanks, Loki."

"I have a secret to show you." He beckoned with one finger, and her eyes sparkled as she followed him to the next room. "Here – this is a hidden drawer in my desk, do you see? When you press this carving, you can reach what is inside." With a click, a tiny slot opened, and he removed a small, wooden box. "Now, can you find the secret to opening it?"

"Hm! This is a puzzle indeed." Her voice trembled with laughter, but after a few minutes she found there were two slots that folded back so the box resembled a horned creature and she was able to remove the lid. Natasha crowed in triumph, but her voice died away when she saw what was inside, a silver spiral ring with a moonstone in its centre.

"It was my mother's, and her mother's as well. It is impossibly old, and we can only guess at the first Viking maid who wore it on her finger." Loki slipped it over her knuckle and grazed his lips on her fingertips.

She gave him her direct, blue gaze and the secret smile he loved. "I find I have not any words to thank you fully, and so – you may kiss me, if you like."

His heart threatened to burst from his chest as she closed her eyes and lifted her face to his. Loki allowed himself one soft touch of her lips, feeling his rampant sex awaken and spring to life as he did so.  _Quiet down, old fellow,_  he silently chided.  _We will pleasure the maiden anon, but not this moment._  She opened her eyes and sighed slightly. "I suppose we have to go downstairs," she declared.

"By God, I suppose we do."

As the guests arrived, Loki's prediction proved correct. Natasha soon was surrounded by a large crowd of admirers, mainly local lads of fashion who wanted a desperate flirtation. He hovered near her, content to play the amused gentleman for the moment. As one boy after another begged for her hand and was rejected, he felt his smile widen until he knew he was grinning like a fool.  _Break your hearts and be damned with you,_  he considered with private triumph.  _Two weeks from now I will have her writhing under me in our bed, and each night for the rest of our lives._

He was interrupted by a voice in his ear. "Have you forgotten something?"

"Beg your pardon?" Loki turned from his bride to be and exclaimed. Ange d'Abode, his former mistress, stood next to him wearing an extremely low-cut scarlet dress with gold embroidery. "What the devil are you doing here?" he hissed.

"You haven't visited me in an age," she declared, causing several heads to turn their way.

Stifling a long flow of rude insults, Loki beckoned with his head to a nearby salon. Ange followed with a smile on her lips, as though she had accomplished what she wanted all along. "Well, madam?" he demanded. "I do not believe you received an invitation."

"No, nor did I receive the rents for my apartment, nor the payment for my dressmaker. I thought I would jog your memory, since you seem to be distracted." She flicked a piece of dust from his lapel with an intimate gesture; Loki grimaced and moved away.

"I will send you off with whatever funds you need, but at this moment you must leave. Tell me the amount necessary to cut you from my life – I have a new affaire, and one in which you do not figure."

"But perhaps I do not want to cut myself from your life." Ange snaked one arm around his neck, and he swore as he moved away from her.

"My fiancée is in the same house, and I will not have her presence tainted by our past! The man who visited you in Paris exists no longer. I would advise you to take the funds and seek a new sponsor."

"Funds? It could be you will not be able to afford it." She reached for his lapels, to bring his lips to hers. Just as he was about to thrust her away, to threaten her with expulsion from his house, the door to the salon opened.

Natasha stood in the lintel, her mouth in an O of surprise. "I – I am sorry," she stammered. "The Duc d'Orleans asked me to find him a pen … he said it would be in here…" She broke off and ran out of the room, and her quick footsteps could be heard in the passage.

"The Duc," Ange murmured. "Such a good friend of mine."

Loki, his temper boiling, realized his former mistress had just engineered the entire scene.

* * *

The ball seemed to last for age after intolerable age. Natasha avoided him throughout and when he did secure her hand for a dance, she answered him with monotone syllables, designed to slaughter any form of conversation.

When at last the final guest left, shouting drunk congratulations and waving a wine glass overhead, Loki turned to find her only to be told Natasha had gone to bed with a headache. He had to leave his own house and return to the stifling guesthouse, raging with frustration and anger.

In the morning he immediately dashed over to visit and was informed "the lady was still not feeling quite the thing." Loki let loose a long volley of curses and rode off in a black mood.

In the afternoon he sent a long note of explanation; it was returned, unread.

The following day he acquired and dispatched a priceless diamond necklace. The box was later sent back to his room with a tearstained note saying, "Dear Count, This is too Costly, and Indeed You must Return it Forthwith, For I Cannot Accept such a Thing, Mayhap You may Understand, And I wish you Very Well, Natasha."

* * *

After several more days of returned flowers, poems, presents, and love notes, the Count went to visit his old friend, Tonnerre. A blond giant of a man whom Loki secretly classed as an oaf, he had a pleasant disposition and a determinedly positive outlook.

Tonnerre welcomed Loki with wine and a loud cry of joy. They retired to the billiard room, where under the influence of several bottles of Burgundy Loki revealed his recent troubles. "I cannot believe my ears!" Tonnerre cried, clapping him on his back. "You are the man who can seduce anyone alive. Remember when you won the Princess of Rheims to your bed? Ah, we were younger then, but you still have your tricks and stratagems, do you not?"

Loki felt a bolt of resolve strike him. "By the Furies, I am! Of course. I must win her – my own bride - to my bed with soft wiles." He grinned and gave Tonnerre a fierce hug. "I knew you could aid me, my friend."

Tonnerre let loose a long laugh. "Never did I think I would see the day when you would come to me for help in matters of the heart! I have my own wife and children, and very pleasant it is when you are happily married, you know. I wish you nothing but the best of joy."

* * *

After such showers of gifts, Loki thought he could capture Natasha's attention if all communiqués from him suddenly ceased. He immediately stopped writing and cancelled the order of daily bouquets and chocolates. Of course, he hadn't bargained on his own boredom; in order to stop himself from rushing to Natasha's side or passing by his house every hour to try and catch a peek of her ankle, he forced himself to take a short trip to another county.

There he drank more wine, stayed in another dreary guesthouse, and nearly fought a duel with a local gentleman for the crime of being overly dull. After two days, he gave up and rode to his country house, feeling his heart bang against his ribs as he galloped up the long drive.

Natasha was in the woods again, her face in her hands. When she heard the sound of his horse, she looked up, and he saw the tracks of tears on her cheeks. "Dear Heart," he called, striding towards her with a feeling of triumph, "did you miss me at all?"

She made a click of annoyance. "Not you," she sobbed. "My kitten is in the lake, and I am afraid she is going to drown…!"

Never was there a more perfect opportunity! Loki, careless of his spotless breeches and new boots, strode into the lake and grasped the neck of the kitten just as it was about to sink for, presumably, the ninth time. The creature struggled and bit, but it seemed to calm down when he deposited it in her lap.

"Tache," she cried and held the bedraggled morsel to her cheek.

He waited until she took notice of him, of the duckweed all over his riding pants, of his jaunty stance in the woods. "Mademoiselle," he breathed. "I am overjoyed I could be of service to you." Sketching a quick bow, he left her and leaped onto the back of his horse.

As he turned to trot back down the long, tree-lined avenue, she ran after him. "Loki! Wait!"

He allowed himself one leer of triumph before he shifted in his saddle. "Yes, little one?" he asked in a supremely innocent tone.

She was out of breath, but she managed to gasp, "Would you like, that is – do you have the opportunity to play chess with me this evening?"

* * *

The fire in the hearth crackled and the old clock ticked on the mantel. They sat across the board and eyed each other. "What is tonight's prize?" Loki asked.

She tilted her head. He had forgotten how much she looked like a sparrow when she did it. "Definitely not a tie pin."

He couldn't help chuckling. "Very well. How is the small cat, by the way?"

"Tache is sleeping on my pillow as we speak, looking insufferably smug."

"Lucky cat." Loki suddenly realized what he had said. "That is, forgive me! I did not mean…"

Natasha fixed him with her direct blue flashing gaze. "Does that mean what I think it means? That  _you_  would like to be on my pillow?"

"Natasha!" Loki was shocked, and he made his voice very severe. "We will be married, and then we may talk of such things. I have procured a special license, and once the banns are read you and I may think of bedtime pursuits."

"Of course. But if I were your mistress in Paris, you would not say such things. You would perhaps ask for my lips as a wager, and you would ravish me if you won the chess game."

"But you are not, and I will not," he insisted. The room seemed to grow warmer, and he fingered his collar.

"But that is not fair. Why should I have to wait like a vestal virgin, while your other women receive your attentions?" Natasha turned away, and he caught a flutter of a lace-edged handkerchief in her hand.

"My dear girl! This is highly irregular. Furthermore, you speak of something of which you have no concept. Marriage is marriage, and once we are entered into matrimony, we may… oh, dash it all."

She raised a tear-laden face to him. "And marriage is separate from affairs of the heart? I do not understand. Why is being married different from love?" In her insistence, she tumbled on the floor to put her hand on his knee.

Somehow he found himself kneeling on the carpet next to her. "But there  _is_  love in marriage," he replied, realizing just how young his affianced was. "It is just that it is sanctioned by the church and…" Hell, he was beginning to sound like the dull dog he had encountered during his two-day purgatory.

"Humph." Natasha folded her arms and gazed into the fireplace. "I still say it would be more exciting if we played for a kiss."

Loki groaned, ran his hand through his tumbled locks, and climbed back into his chair. He eyed Natasha across the table, and they leaned forward, both intent on the game. For a while there was silence as she chewed her lip and concentrated on the board. After a moment he realized he could see down her front, to the petticoats and corset underneath. A vision of easing her stays, rolling down her stockings and kissing away the marks from her flesh flashed into his mind, and he groaned again.

"Are you quite well?" Natasha asked in a silky voice. "You seem quite distressed."

"I am perfectly – s'blood! Did you just put me in checkmate?"

"Oh dear," she said in an airy, unconcerned voice, "have I? Ah, it appears I have. It is time for you to pay your forfeit – and, no, I still do not want your tie pin."

Stifling a curse, Loki's eyes bulged as she plopped into his lap, seized the points of his jacket collar, and pressed her firm young lips to his. At once his body felt as though it had been dipped in boiling oil, and there was a thundering in his ears.

He managed to lift her, get up somehow and find his way to the door. There he stopped and said, "Ah, that is, it is possible there may be a date for us at the church tomorrow afternoon. Would it please you to be married earlier than we had planned?"  _In faith,_  he thought,  _I cannot bear another day without seeing her naked body and plunging inside._

"Why, yes," she said. "That would please me very much."

* * *

The entire ceremony seemed to happen to someone else, not him. As though in a dream, Loki repeated his vows, feeling nothing except the slender fingers on his arm. And during the procedure through a cheering village, to the country house where he could now stay and the neighbors be damned, to a long salon where they drank champagne and ate cakes, as he fidgeted and fretted until the final guest left (the same drunk fool from the ball) and they were left alone together, he could hardly believe it was all happening to him.

Outside a riot of stars blazed. Natasha leaned perilously over the tiny balcony in their room and laughed as the moths wheeled overhead, until her new husband drew her inside. "And now, love, it is time for…"

"Oh, do not say a game of chess!" She laughed again at his thunderstruck expression and walked her fingers up his shirtfront. "Will you come to bed, husband?"

"By God!" Loki couldn't help himself; he seized her in his arms and covered her mouth with his. "Sorry," he murmured a moment later.

"Loki. We are going to have to come to an understanding." Natasha fixed him with her straight gaze, and she kept a firm grasp on his shirt points. "We may be married, but you and I are going to spend each night as though we were mistress and lover in Paris. I want you to ravish me just as thoroughly as any of your previous ladies, and I will meet you in kind. And before you protest again, I will tell you that none save you and I will know of it, and yes I am an innocent virgin, but I am ready to learn everything you have to teach me and more, and if I am being shameless I do not care, for I find I do not want you to grow tired of me, and if you travel to Paris for affairs it would make me very sad, and so I hope we can do this instead…oh!"

Loki picked her up in his arms and threw her on the bed. A moment later he fell on top of her, kissing her wildly again and again and effectually silencing her for a few moments. He managed to unlace her gown and push it off, and he realized she was fumbling with his breeches. With a few practiced moves he had himself out of his clothes and Natasha in her corset as he lavished her neck with breathless, panting kisses. "By Our Lord!" he gasped. "Truly you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen – and before you hush me and tell me it is nonsense, every word I say to you is true. And I no longer want anyone but you in my bed, any bed. And I want to take  _you_  to Paris and ravish you there. And Rome, and London as well. And – and I love you, Natasha."

"Yes, yes - oh, look at this strange object I have found!" she crowed, weighing the length of him in her hand. "Now what shall we do with it?"

Loki groaned again, kissed his way down to her cleft, grinned at her cry of surprise as he suckled every inch of her slit and thighs, making certain she found a hearty bout of pleasure in it before he crawled back onto her. "Let us go slowly," he breathed, "for your first time…My child!" Somehow he was sheathed in her, and a few tears coursed down her cheeks.

"Oh," she echoed. "Oh, that is very odd. I did not expect that. You are inside me – are you going to take it out again?"

He closed his eyes and couldn't help laughing. "In due time."

"Oh. Maybe we should stop."

"My love," he said in warning, "we cannot stop. Now, stop chattering for a moment and kiss me."

* * *

Much later he discovered she enjoyed having champagne spilled onto her belly and lapped up with his tongue. After that Natasha did it to him, and then she insisted on climbing on top to "see if she could make it work." As she flung her head back in ecstasy and he exploded inside of her, his shouts of lust echoed throughout the room and probably down the hall.  _Let anyone make of that what they may,_ he thought. _This girl – this lovely girl is all mine, forever._

As long rays of early dawn struggled into their room, Loki collapsed onto the pillow next to her, thanking the heavens for the treasure he had somehow won. His enthusiastic young bride kissed him and snuggled under his chin, purring like the infernal cat she liked so much. "What fun it all is!" she giggled. "But I suppose we should sleep now. And – I love you as well, Loki."

"Darling." His heart on his lips, he kissed her again and again. She put his hand on her chest, and he did the same with hers to feel his heart, racing under his skin.

Their eyes opened wide as the knowledge struck them. "Loki," Natasha whispered.

"Natasha," he said. A tear ran down his cheek. "I found you again – or did you find me? Such a naughty little minx you were this time – seducing me instead of other way round. And I fear we have not much time left to us once more."

"Do you have something for me?" She held out her palm, and unwillingly he felt for the coloured square he knew was in his pocket. It meant the end of their tryst in that century.

"I wish we could stay longer. I enjoyed marrying you again more than I could say." Loki couldn't help laughing through his tears.

She took the tiny object and gave him her direct, blue, flashing gaze. "Find me again – soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to samdram1 and Starbooks 13 for the lovely comments and inspiration.


	6. The Lady of the Ship – West Indies, 1732

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I'm all about pulp fiction, so I couldn't resist doing a pirate AU, starring Lady Loki of course.

**The Fourth Piece**

She was brought on board, struggling with every shred of will left to her. Her affianced husband was dead – not that she would mourn him – and she alone had been captured by several leering, filthy pirates.

They tossed her onto the deck so she fell on her face among a chorus of rough laughter and jeers. "Behold the rich dicky-bird. Her song is not so sweet now!" A boot struck her ribs, and she yelped, then coughed.

"Wonder if she has a temper to match that hair," another remarked. A thick hand wound in her curls and dragged her up a space to look in her face. "'Tis a winsome lass – who will play me for her pleasures tonight?"

"Enough!"

Natasha lifted her head and squinted into the sun. The final shout was deep but feminine, and she saw a pair of supple leather boots stride into her sight, stop in front of her face. "Back off, you horrible lot, or I shall scourge the hide from your bones!"

With some dark muttering, the deck cleared. Natasha waited until the same voice ordered, "Well, get up, girl. You have no maid nor abigail here."

She rose and sheltered her eyes. A tall woman dressed in the manner of a pirate stood on the deck, her hands on her slender hips. She wore tight breeches and the fine boots; her head was thrown back as though she were a queen. "Well?" she demanded again.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "Well, what? It appears I have come to call. Am I late for tea?"

A look of surprise crossed the female's face, and her eyes twinkled for a moment in humour. "So you can talk, and you do have spirit. 'Tis good, but you will not last long aboard my ship with nothing else. Shall I spit you now or leave you to the dogs this night?"

"Before you kill me," Natasha declared, "may I at least have the honour of knowing my murderess's name?"

"Honour! That is a word we do not often use." The woman strode forward, cupped Natasha's chin, and turned her face both ways. Just as suddenly she dropped her hand and stepped back. "You may call me Lady – 'tis an ironic term, certain enough, but it is how I am known about the SeaLily."

"The SeaLily? That is your ship?"

A look of pride crossed Lady's face. "And the finest vessel in all of the South Seas it is. The tub you just left, on the other hand, would have sunk in a week. Faith, we have done you a service, lass, to rescue you from such a disaster in the making."

"And those on board?" Natasha did not waver; she stared into Lady's eyes, determined she could be just as arrogant.

"I would imagine my dogs left several boards, barrels, splits, and the like. If the survivors are sharp about it, they may last the week until the next ship comes. Were there any close to you?" The question was an idle one; Lady brushed one gloved hand against the lace of her shirt.

"I was to be married to one of them."

Lady looked up. "Oh? And needs we go back to find your lover?"

"No, thank you. He was a dreadful man, after my money and intent on drinking himself to death. He enjoyed beating his servants and would have started in on me in due course." Natasha crossed her arms.

The Lady threw back her head in a long, delighted laugh. "We have lit upon an original! What good fortune you were hauled into my deck. Not one in five thousand would have answered as you have done just now." Something in her eyes kindled and she stepped closer, but a lean, hunched man with a long white pigtail interrupted her with a whispered message.

* * *

It did not take long for the crew to set upon Natasha. As soon as she was dragged down to the stowage, one man with a ragged beard and two fingers missing tried to force a kiss and grope Natasha's bodice.

She submitted to the kiss, quickly found his dagger, and slit his arm with it. As he fell back with a shout she slashed the face of one sailor holding her, kicked the groin of the other, and landed in a fighting stance ready to take on the next. "Eh, she be filled with piss and vinegar, lads!" a peg-legged pirate shouted. "Tis a wasp, not a butterfly, look on!"

"And I will sting the next one who attempts to take me…" Natasha's words were cut off as a meaty hand covered her mouth and someone tried to thrust into her from behind. She stamped on his boot, but he was able to force her legs open and feel for her cleft, all to the cheers of his mates.

Just as she was afraid she would be plundered there was a loud shout from the other end of the galley. "Leave go, you group of filthy scum!" The Lady herself strode down the hall, wielding a long rope with several knots tied in it. She swung the weapon and brought down half the onlookers with one swish.

Natasha stood, her chemise pulled off her shoulders, the man behind her frozen as though in shock. "Take your hands off her, Half Prick!" the Lady bellowed, and the man shoved Natasha forward so she fell on her knees, bracing herself with her hands.

"Take her and be done," the sailor addressed as Half Prick said.

Lady's eyes slitted and she darted her head forward like a snake about to strike. "Are you addressing me? Touch one more thing that is mine, and you'll feel another taste of this…" The rope swung out, caught him under his chin, and he fell with a bellow on his buttocks.

The rest of the crew vanished as though by magic. Natasha slowly climbed to her feet, trying to adjust her clothes as she did, and the Lady's eyes darted to her face. "Seems you are more than a simple girl, innocent and fresh. Where did you learn to fight so?"

Natasha tossed back her curls, feeling her temper rise. "Perhaps it is the hair. Take me to a place where I will not be bothered, or I will dispatch your entire crew one by one when they approach me. I doubt you can raise a topsail by yourself, even as hardened as you are."

Lady made another gesture of surprise. "I do have the perfect place in mind, although I am not certain you will like it."

With a vicious kick in 'Half Prick's' ribs, Natasha bared her teeth. "It must be better than this scurvy hole."

* * *

The Lady opened the door to a large stateroom. There was a carved bed set into one wall next to a sloped table filled with maps and charts. A worn trunk was neatly clasped in a corner and a bookshelf, surprisingly filled with volumes, lurked behind a glass door. Obviously the room was occupied; a wide leather belt hung from a hook, and there was a half-filled glass of some dark liquid among the papers on the desk.

Natasha raised one eyebrow. "Is this what I think it is?"

"I said you might not like it. Still, you will not be bothered by those oafs when you are in here…" The Lady's voice trailed off.

Natasha went to a small mirror on the wall, pulled off one sleeve, and hissed as she looked at a deep slash on her shoulder. "Damnation! Still, I think I gave as good as I got."

"Tell me more about this unfortunate suitor of yours. Did he have any idea what a prize he held?" Lady's nostrils flared, and she tilted her chin to look down her nose at Natasha.

"That fool did not know what was in front of him on his plate. He was after my money, as I said, and he could not wait to get his hands on my land as well." Natasha snorted. "Truly, you did me a favour by ridding me of that one."

She made to pull up her sleeve again, but the Lady stopped her. "Allow me." She found a small glass bottle and a handkerchief and tilted a few drops out to apply to the white skin. "It appears, madam, that you are as ruthless as I am."

"Perhaps I am. I have to be, in order to make it through this man's world – as you must know." Natasha met the green eyes and held them; she refused to back down to any pirate.

Lady pursed her lips in a silent 'ooh.' "What is your name, pretty? Madam might suit, but the connotations are off. I could imagine you doing everything save selling your own flesh."

"I am Natasha – and you are correct about selling my flesh. It was sold for me, by my uncle. All the pieces of my inheritance were chopped off like limbs and distributed until there will be nothing left, in the end."

"And are you willing to abide with that?"

Natasha frowned. "Of course not. My plan was to catch my future husband in some idiotic move of his own doing and expose him for the charlatan he was. However, your attack made things that much quicker."

"Perhaps you owe me …" Lady's eyes flickered to Natasha's lips and back up, but the red-haired woman jumped up.

"Did you desire a piece of my inheritance? Just like all the other dogs who come sniffing for gold?" Natasha's mouth drew back in a snarl – she was mightily tired of being chased for what she had.

However, the Lady merely laughed and gestured to the large trunk. "I want none of your inheritance. Take off those sadly travel-stained clothes, pet, and help yourself to some of mine. I will attend you anon, over dinner." She winked and left the room, closing the door gently after her.

* * *

Plates of skate in brown butter and crab drawn with lemon were served by Half Prick, who sported a new red scar across his face. When he withdrew to leave Lady and Natasha alone in the large stateroom, the woman arched one brow. "It is just as you think. I have given him a little reminder so he will never forget to keep his hands to himself as far as you are concerned."

She handed Natasha a glass of wine. Cradling it in her palm, the redhead touched it to the pirate's own and took a careful sip. "Mmm!" she said in surprise. "'Tis warm and full-bodied – the best vintage I have ever lapped."

"Lapped – now there is an interesting choice of word. And you have a good palate – 'twas stolen from France, from the Rheims district. Only a few bottles remain, so I save them for my most favoured guests."

"Am I a guest now?" Natasha tried a bite of the skate – it was delicious. Even though the wine was so complex, the fish matched the dimensions of the grapes.

"Of course it is supposed to be a white, but we have none at the present. And a pirate does not adhere to the vagaries of fashion." Lady tilted her chair back, crossed one booted leg over the other, and took a long draft of wine. Giving Natasha a long, measuring look, she added, "And what shall I do with you, I wonder?"

"Allow me to return to my home without further bother?"

The pirate's laughter was as rich as the wine. "No, I cannot do that – it would mean my neck, like as not. Still, now I have seen your spirit and courage, I find I do not want to slit your throat either. 'Tis a conundrum, and we must think long on it."

Natasha lifted her hand to her neck and caressed it with one finger; Lady's eyes followed every move.  _So,_  the redhead thought,  _it is like that. Very interesting indeed, and I can play that to my advantage._ "Perhaps I can be of use. If you need something read or written, or should you want my assistance with nought else…"

Lady set her chair down with a thump. "If only I could trust you, and if only you could trust me. However, we cannot afford such a luxury, you and I. Trust is for gentlemen, and we are not such. Moreover, I think you have more of the pirate than the gentleman in you, and I would be a fool to trust my own kind." She seemed about to rise, and Natasha hastily refilled her glass.

"It would be a shame for this excellent vintage to go to waste, Lady. At least have a drink with me, and we can sleep on such puzzles. For sometimes questions, so knotty at first, have quite simple answers with the application of a little time." Natasha took another sip, ate a delicate forkful of crab. "And how did you become a pirate, may I ask?"

"I was stolen, naturally, much as you were. Without the benefit of lands or money, my only fortune was my skin, and with the dint of hard work I created my own little estate. It floats on the ocean, but what of it?"

"Let us drink to that." Natasha touched her glass to Lady's and, eyes on each other, they took a long swallow.

"Does it go to your head?" the black-haired pirate asked.

"Everything goes to my head."

Lady's green eyes seemed to glow for a moment before she rose with a sudden movement. "By God, 'twould be best if I were aboveboard for several hours." She strode out of the room, and the door banged shut behind her. A few moments later, a key turned in the lock.

* * *

Natasha found the closest thing to a nightgown in the heavy chest and put it on. The long chemise covered her, but the material was so thin and fine it was hardly like wearing anything at all. The floor tilted with the waves as she got into the carved bed. She didn't mind – Natasha had always enjoyed being at sea. The wine and the eventful day made her weary, and she fell asleep almost at once into a strange dream of violets, a game of chess, a picture split into nine parts.

When the Lady slid into the sheets next to her, Natasha turned, murmured and wound an arm around the pirate's chest. She awoke fully when Lady froze and tried to disengage herself. "Sorry!" Natasha gasped.

Blushing, she went to the water closet in one corner of the stateroom. Trying not to eavesdrop, she waited as long as she could before she tiptoed out again, hoping Lady would be asleep.

The long, black hair spilled over the pillow, and the green eyes were closed. Natasha frowned at the candlelit sight, at the slightly hawkish nose, the patrician nostrils, the proud line of neck.  _Enough,_  she thought and blew out the candle before climbing into the bed as quietly as she could.

* * *

In the morning Lady was gone. Natasha got dressed and, after an hour of wandering the room, sat down to examine the maps at the table. After a while she realized there was a pattern – Lady was after something, and there was an extensive search going on for whatever it was.

One chart was marked with a series of circles, never overlapping, showing a concentric pattern within the area where, according to Natasha's vague notions, the SeaLily was located. Her own ship had been near Madeira, and the maps clustered around that section of the sea, showing more and more detailed cartographic sketches of marketplaces: small, native, and completely ordinary.

"What are you doing?"

Natasha turned with a gasp, still holding one chart aloft. Lady strode into the chamber and twitched it out of her fingers, tilted up Natasha's chin and brought her face very close. "Keep your little nose out of my business, do you understand me?"

"It might help if I weren't locked up in a room ten by twenty paces!" Natasha pushed Lady's hand to one side and rose to fling out an arm. "It is perfectly clear I have no say in what happens to me – but I must do something or I shall go mad!"

Lady seized a book from the shelf and brandished it under her nose. "Read this and keep yourself out of trouble." She crossed the room in two steps, ready to leave again.

"What are you searching for?" Natasha kept her tone mild, almost courteous.

Lady stopped at the door. "What makes you think…"

"I am not a child, nor am I beef-witted. It is perfectly obvious from these charts you search for something, but I doubt it is gold or jewels."

The female pirate twitched her fine dark brows over her nose. "Why do you say that?"

"The places where you are looking. If they were uninhabitable islands I would say, yes, you are after the usual sort of treasure. But the fact that you look in small villages, looking for traders of a certain sort, makes me think you want something more unusual than that. Which piques my interest, I do not mind telling you, and so I ask again – what do you search for?"

For a moment it was difficult to tell if Lady were about to slit Natasha's throat, slap her, or pull her into an intimate embrace. At last the tall woman gestured with her head. "Come."

* * *

On deck, there was a crew prepared for a small ship. Lady and Natasha got into it with three of the loud sailors, all prepared with warm sallies about the redhead's low-cut dress and the view afforded of her ankles when she climbed in. The pirate casually swung her rope end, however, and the catcalls ceased.

It was good to be in the sun again, even for a few moments. Natasha lifted her head, closed her eyes, and breathed in great drafts of the sea air. At length Lady handed her a small portion of bread and a cup of water; it was obvious they had to share the food. She took a bite and a long sip before handing it over; Lady kept her gaze as she drank, using the same side of the cup.

Natasha swallowed and looked away. It was apparent the Lady preferred her own sex to that of gentlemen – or was she merely tired of the dirty, unruly tars on her own ship? Perhaps when they reached shore, Lady would act differently.

However, it was not to be the case. In fact, as they climbed out of the boat – just her and Natasha; the men were to stay with the skip – her hand ghosted on Natasha's back. "Take care, pet," she murmured in her ear. "Do not think you can get away from me here - even if there are others living on this rock, there are none to help you. None to speak your language, none to offer you succor. And I will strongly object if you try to leave my side."

Nodding, Natasha followed Lady's long strides to a small town with cobbled streets and stalls selling creatures with limp tentacles, dried seaweed, and bright shells as well as powders, polished stones, and strange pieces of wood in all shapes.

Lady went up to one man and began to speak with him in a low voice. Natasha looked away, trying to appear as though she weren't interested while she tried to listen in on the conversation.

One word was repeated often enough to be obvious:  _Anel._  So Lady was interested in a ring, and  _Prata:_  of silver. The man talked rapidly, gesturing with his hands and speaking with increasing volume, obviously demanding more and more money.

His tone irked Natasha; he reminded her of her erstwhile fiancé with his greasy hair and shifting glance. At last she could bear it no longer. Ripping up her sleeve, she tore off a gold bangle and held it under his nose. "See this?" she said in flawless Portuguese. "If you would like it in exchange for what my friend asks, procure it for her now.  _Now."_

The man gaped and he fumbled in his pocket to withdraw a tiny wooden box. Lady received it and Natasha threw him the bangle before turning and marching back to the boat.

The pirate caught up with her and seized her elbow. "Why did you do that?" she demanded.

"He annoyed me. I wanted to get away from his breath – it smelled like bad onions." She pointed at the box. "Is what you want inside?"

Lady drew her into a side alley. "Let us see if we can open it…" She struggled with the lid, and Natasha touched the tiny thing.

"I think there's a trick to it – here." She folded back two slots, and the lid slid off. Inside was a ring, a silver spiral with a large moonstone in the center.

"This is it," Lady breathed. Sharply she lifted her head and captured Natasha's chin between her thumb and forefinger. "Why did you help me? I had you kidnapped and you were attacked on my ship. And why did you call me a friend just now to that varlet?"

"I do not know – perhaps women like us need all the friends we can get."

Lady's face grew even more severe. "There are no women like me."

* * *

On the way back to the ship, she kept her face away from Natasha's and stared stonily at the horizon. Her long hair, unbound save for two strands tied back with a leather thong, blew around her strong chin.

Natasha kept throwing her glances when the three sailors weren't looking. She had never met anyone like the pirate queen, as she had come to think of Lady. She was as regal and arrogant as any nobleman, yet she also seemed to have a tender core. In short, she was fascinating.

As they reboarded and Natasha returned to the large stateroom to read the book she had been given in the morning, she continued to probe the image with her mind. Why that ring? What would happen to her next? Would she ever see her home or England again? Did she even care?

At last she rose and found a pen, gorgeously swirled with gold and opals, as well as a pot of ink. Carefully, she tore off the last corner of the book: a blank page. Pen in hand, she wrote,  _"There are other women just like you"_  and put it on the pile of charts.

Lady would find it there, she knew.

* * *

Natasha was alone for dinner. As she undressed and got into the fine nightgown, she tossed in the bed, certain she would never be able to sleep. At last her thoughts merged and morphed into a castle where someone with green eyes and dark hair handed her an apple; offered her a bite.

"Do not," Lady said. She sat at Natasha's side, leaning across the bed, and as Natasha opened her eyes the pirate moved closer. "Do not tell me you are like me – you are not. You have no idea what I am! Or what I hide!"

Doubling her fists, Natasha sat up. "I think I have every idea. As I told you before, I am not beef-witted, unlike your pathetic crew. Do they have any idea? I would imagine they are in the dark, but  _I am not!"_  She stared back into Lady's green eyes, refusing to give in.

Lady made a quick gesture of dismissal and turned away, but at that moment the ship slanted. Natasha fell forward into the woman's arms.

For a moment neither of them moved. It was so forbidden, so dangerous – they could be strung up if anyone even suspected. That idea made the flickering heat between Natasha's legs boil, and with a wild gasp she captured Lady's mouth with her own, pulling the woman's lower lip between her teeth and sucking it.

"No," Lady said.

"Yes," Natasha insisted. "Is the door locked?"

Lady moaned Yes and pulled the long red hair into her fist, plunging her tongue into Natasha's mouth. "You could go to prison for this," she whispered.

"I know. I do not care."

"You could lose your life, your inheritance."

"Just kiss me and keep quiet for one moment," Natasha declared. She wrapped her arms around that slender figure, pulled her on top of her own body, lurching up with a cry as they fell back among the pillows on the tossing boat.

"Natasha, my wicked girl, my own naughty pet, you pretty thing, will you really allow me to lie with you?" Lady's voice was filled with confusion, with lust, with something more than that.

"Why do you think I fought so fiercely when they tried to marry me off at my home?" Natasha's voice brimmed with laughter. "I already knew what I was, but there was no chance for me, of course. I was resigned to living a life of disgust – a lie. You – you saved me from that."

In answer, Lady kissed her, stripped the nightgown over her head, unbuttoned her own shirt, stretched out on top of Natasha. There was no light save that from the flickering candle, but it was enough. With her fingertips Natasha felt the woman's elegant breasts, small and high-tipped, her long flanks, the smooth stomach scarred in several places, the proud neck. Natasha licked and sucked every inch she could reach, wrapped her legs around Lady's waist, ground against her man's breeches. "I am lost," Lady panted, "I am already lost in you, and you know it, and there is nothing I can do about it."

"Your own arrogance makes you fearful of what I might do to you, but believe me when I say I will harbour your ship with great care, as long as you wish to stay," Natasha whispered. "Just let me show you what talents I have…"

"You are a finer treasure than any store of gold hidden in the Azores. I love you, I love your temper and hidden fire, just here…" Lady brushed her hand over the curls between Natasha's legs, bent down to explore and suck each slick fold.

It was death defying. They were dancing on the head of a pin, hanging off the edge of a sword. Natasha reclaimed Lady's mouth, climbed on top, thrust onto her with wild gasps, bent to suck the slim, elegant slit between the long legs. "You are untamed, you are fierce and intelligent, you are mine," Natasha said.

"Tell me you did not feel it the first instant. Tell me." Lady put one hand around Natasha's throat, bared her teeth. "You knew we would ride each other then, and I knew it as well, and by God I will have you each moment I can until we are tossed in the waves and made coral and dust."

"You speak the truth. I knew it… Lady – you are mine."

"Yes, and you are mine."

Natasha reared back in a prolonged explosion, a spending through her legs and bones. The danger and stealth only added to it – she had never felt such an overwhelming sensation before.

Their breath slowed and they clasped each other, breast to breast. Natasha felt the pirate's sly smile against her neck. "I love you," Lady repeated.

"My own pirate queen, you have stolen my heart," Natasha replied. Very solemnly they kissed, gently but with the promise of greater storms to come.

"Do you know why I sought the ring so fiercely?" Lady abandoned Natasha's mouth and propped herself up on one elbow.

Playing with one long strand of black hair, Natasha shook her head. "No, why?"

The pirate put her lips right to Natasha's ear. "I was told it would bring me my heart's desire when I was a child, if I could find it. And thus it is – I have found both in the space of a few hours."

Natasha stared at the ceiling above them, rolling with the slow tide. "I know you," she whispered. "I already loved you. But how? We have never met …"

Lady put one firm fingertip to Natasha's lips. "Do not say any more. I – I feel we are coming to a point of great danger, and I do not you want to leave me just yet…"

Natasha drew her into her arms, to lick the pointed breasts, to ride the strong thighs. With the waves, the two women flowed and rocked together, making love again and again. And when the dawn struggled into their cabin - an unwanted stowaway in their ship of love - Lady reluctantly handed Natasha the ring to put on her finger, and gave her the small colored square. "Remember me," the haughty pirate said, before allowing a tear to trickle down her cheek.

"Find me again soon," Natasha countered as their lips met in one final, passionate kiss.


	7. Pride and Glorious Purpose - Manchester 1824

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just say Jane Austen would NOT be amused. (Or would she?)

**The Fifth Piece**

* * *

 

The estate was rundown and encumbered with massive debts, but Natasha loved every worn stone, each mossy tile. The house was filled with creaky old passages, crabbed attics with trunk upon trunk filled with old clothes and ancient treasures and one strange window seat opened to reveal a secret room.

Her mother could not afford to send her to school, and so she taught the girl herself – the ways of philosophy, mathematics, the sciences, as well as the usual poetry and plays of Shakespeare. Natasha drank it all in, often falling asleep over a volume before her mother woke her to go to bed.

And yet often Natasha would find her mother in her study, rubbing her forehead worriedly over accounts or the steadily-decreasing rents from the surrounding farms. She would bring a cup of tea and try to bring serenity back to her mother's face. Still, the pile of bills grew, and when Lady Romanova received a summons from a distant cousin with a proposed solution to her problems, she gave Natasha a kiss and set out to London with a promise to return within the week.

* * *

"Natasha? Darling girl, I am returned, and with the biggest surprise that ever was for you!"

Her mother's voice ended Natasha's daydream of living among the gods in Valhalla, and she set her book aside to rush down the stairs. Halfway down she stopped, aghast. Lady Romanova stood in the hall with a stranger – a large, bearded man with an eyepatch over one eye. Next to him was a sulky-looking young man not much older than she was, with long black hair and an air of insufferable arrogance.

Lady Romanova dashed forward, grasped her daughter's hand, and drew her forward. "Darling, this is the Duke, and he will be your new father. I know it was sudden, but the Duke and I are of an age when business arrangement make more sense… but no matter. The important issue is I have brought you a new brother. Natasha, meet Lord Odinson…"

The young man stepped forward, extended his hand, and bowed over hers. He seemed to dismiss her with one cold glance before stepping away and saying to his father, "I must look to the horses to make certain they are settled."

"If you must, but attend us when we dine." The Duke spoke in a deep voice, conjuring up the image of strength and dignity.

Natasha was transfixed with a dreadful thought.  _Dine!_  The new arrivals would certainly expect a formal meal complete with many courses, and their kitchens were hardly prepared. She stifled a snort of laughter. Trust her mother to forget the necessities of life in her hurry to present a treat!

Murmuring her excuses, Natasha tripped quickly to the kitchens where she gave the harassed cook the last of the housekeeping money to buy what goods she could find to produce a meal worthy of the Duke and his arrogant son. That done, she found her book and escaped to the gardens to breathe freely for an hour or so.

* * *

"I beg your pardon." It was the young man, Lord Odinson.

Natasha looked up from her book, still in a haze of Valkyries and the apples of Idunn. With an exclamation, she rose and put her book aside. "I am sorry, my lord. My only excuse is my book – when I begin to read, I lose all sense of time. May I ask how your horses are faring?"

A light kindled in his eye. "My own Sleipnir has accepted his new living quarters graciously."

"Sleipnir!" She felt her jaw drop open. "Is that really his name?"

"Why, yes."

"But it is just like my story!" She held out her book. "The myth of Loki, you know, as well as…" Remembering how that particular myth ended, Natasha felt a deep blush suffuse her cheeks. "The – the story of Fenrir is very sad and beautiful too."

He seated himself next to her on the stone bench and reached for the book. "May I? And of course it was why I named my horse thus. With the dreadful title of Odinson, there was simply no other choice." He caressed the worn, leather spine and smiled. "I always loved these tales."

Natasha grinned. "But it all makes sense now! Your horse, your name – I might as well call you Loki…"

With a stifled oath, he threw the book down and stood. His face assumed his usual arrogant expression. "Very amusing, Miss Romanova. I suppose I shall see you at dinner." With that, he strode off.

Raising her eyebrows, Natasha picked up her book.  _What was that all about?_

* * *

The Duke proclaimed the dinner - a couple of roast capons with a saddle of mutton, dressed pig's cheek, and haricots verts - a disaster. "We must needs hire a new staff," he informed Natasha's mother, "for the kitchen and the grounds as well. Begin interviews immediately."

Lady Romanova and her daughter exchanged a humourous glance. "Yes, Your Grace," the countess-to-be murmured.

Natasha stifled a smile and cut a fragment of capon. As she put it to her lips, she found the pale, green eyes of her stepbrother upon her – 'twould seem he had intercepted the joke and understood it.

* * *

As a result, the old estate started to flourish. Armies of gardeners came in to tame the wild gardens, beat the old roses back and train forests of fruit orchards into a far more formal landscape. The cook was given an entire staff, and huge crates of wines as well as French champagne were carried into the cellars.

Natasha herself was handed a quarterly allowance with the stricture of visiting the best dressmakers to make herself presentable. "After all," she overheard the Duke saying to her mother, "when we are married and hold salons, assemblies, and dances – things of that nature – the girl must be presentable. For her to be one-and-twenty and still not married…!"

"I do not believe Natasha ever had an interest in marriage…" her mother began, but her affianced husband cut her off with an impatient sniff.

"Every girl owes her parents the duty of being wed and delivering several grandchildren. I hold no hope for my son – he is too proud and has run into difficulties…"

Natasha stopped listening and strode away. She had no desire to hear any more about her new stepbrother – the one she couldn't help calling 'Loki' in her mind.

She tiptoed to the stables, afraid of finding him there. The place was newly painted, with fresh hay in all the stalls and a number of grooms polishing the leathers. Natasha asked for her old mare, Rocinante, to be saddled, and as she settled herself and firmly tied on her hat, she felt the usual thrill of temporary freedom.

Rocinante picked up her mistress's mood and galloped to the nearest village, where Natasha ordered several new gowns, hats, tippets, and walking-dresses. She found the entire expedition extremely tedious, but she knew it would make her new Papa – and, thus, her Mama – happy.

Remounting and heading home, Natasha encountered the tall figure of 'Loki' on Sleipnir. He pulled his horse to a halt and lifted his hat. "Miss Romanova, good day."

"If you are after buying lengths of muslin or lace gloves, I am afraid you are in for a disappointment," she laughed. "I seem to have purchased the entire village."

She caught a momentary gleam before he sobered again. "Father is the cause, I am certain," he said.

"Yes. His Grace ordered that I have a new wardrobe so I may properly assume my new position – but indeed I am most indebted to him. He wakes us all from our sleepy country reverie. And I presume he makes my mother happy."

"Does he?" Loki fixed her with a straight look. "I never heard of my father making anyone happy beyond himself. Forgive me if I sound complaining, but you must know it is the truth."

"I believe fathers and sons share a strange bond – one which is constrained by duty, tested by society, and tempered, in the end, by love."

Loki looked surprised. "Well said, and your words do you credit. However, generalities, however prettily stated, often collapse in the harsh light of true life…"

He was interrupted by a cry of "Natasha!" Jane, Natasha's friend, ran up and waved. "Natasha! I have not seen you in an age. Will you come to visit this afternoon?"

"Lady Jane Foster, my I introduce my new stepbrother, Lord Odinson? At least, he shall be my brother soon, in a few weeks." Natasha couldn't help adding, "I privately call him Loki, due to his steed and his bearing."

Loki's look of interest from their conversation faded to his arrogant manner. "Lady Jane," he snapped and wheeled his steed to ride off without a goodbye.

Natasha smiled into Jane's face. "Is he not an original? I mean to make him laugh, you know, by the year's end. He is far too stiff and formal for his own good."

"Natasha!" Jane gasped. "You still have the touch of the hoyden about you, I see, no matter how high your household reaches. Still, do visit this afternoon and we can talk all about it."

* * *

Over the course of the next few weeks, the house itself followed the changes already occurring in the stables and the orchards. Armies of housemaids shone and polished, until the old wood started to gleam with a mellow shine. Natasha, going up the stairs to bed, trailed one finger up the banister.

"Do you miss your old house?" Loki emerged on the landing above, looking down at her. "I see we prepare for a large dance, is that correct?"

"I believe so. And to answer your question – in truth, I have never seen my home look more comfortable or more lovely."

"And the dance? What of that?"

"What of it? The usual red-faced gentlemen will come and fall asleep on our chairs, and we will drink punch while we talk about the heat in the room and the state of the throne. I could do it in my sleep by now." Natasha grinned at him, musing it could be pleasant to have a brother to discuss such things with as long as he kept in a somewhat sociable mood.

"Oh, dear. We shall have to arrange better than that. Would you be averse to my inviting some friends from town?" Loki descended the steps, holding her eyes with his own.

"Indeed, 'twould make the local maidens wildly happy. If you do so, however, you run the risk of making our quiet little dance into the most anticipated event this shire has ever known."

"Well, then! I cannot resist such excitement. I will write to them this very evening." Loki stopped on the stair next to her. "But where are you off to? Will you not come and sit with us in the drawing room?"

"And plague you with my dreadful skills at the pianoforte? I will let you off for one night at least and write my own letters in my room."

"But why not attend me and write them below?" Loki's finger grazed her own. "I beg of you, Miss Romanova, do not desert me to my father."

Surprised, Natasha looked into his face. His eyes held hers, and she felt a jolt of some new awareness. Was he trying to get up a flirtation? It couldn't be less appropriate, given their situation. "Very well," she continued slowly, "as long as you call me Natasha. 'Miss Romanova' sounds like a maiden aunt I had when I was a child."

"Natasha," Loki repeated. "And you may call me…"

"Loki," she laughed. "So it is written until the end of time. I cannot call you anything else now."

* * *

Jane cornered Natasha the following day in the morning room. Her friend came in, glowing with good looks and bright excitement. "Is it true there are a group of gentlemen to arrive from London?" she asked as she sat next to Natasha and kissed her cheek.

"Why, yes. You must add a new ribbon to your hair and prepare to dance the night away – or at least until eleven o'clock."

"Eleven! Surely your future Papa will never be so cruel as to end out amusement at eleven." Jane sobered and added, "I must wear my old gown, of course. There is no hope for me."

"However," Natasha replied, "your own smile and lovely countenance will eclipse the room. I should prepare, dear friend, to have your dance card filled and several gentlemen fighting for your hand if I were you."

The prophecy proved correct. Loki's friend, Mr. Thorson, took one look at Jane and instantly claimed her hand for the first and second dances. Natasha, watching from the shadows, felt a deep sense of satisfaction as she saw her friend sway in the movements of the country dance with the tall, blond gentleman, who had an air of open friendliness and seemed to take delight in everything he saw – especially her friend.

Thus when her own hand was claimed by Mr. Wickham, another of the gentlemen from London, she felt able to accept and lead him to the dance floor. Her companion was handsome enough and had an easy laugh – in fact, she found as they met in the measures of the Sir Roger de Coverley that he was easy to talk to as well.

"I never knew Manchester to have so much entertainment!" he exclaimed as he twirled her under his arm. "Nor so much beauty."

"Fie, sir, for shame! We are sleepy folk here in this corner of England, and we must need peek out from our trees and cliffs to find something to do – other than tatting lace and repeating century-old gossip…" Natasha trailed off. She caught Loki's eyes on her, a furious look on his face. "Er, sorry. Do you mind if I desert you for a moment?"

Mr. Wickham made a polite affirmative, and Natasha stepped right up to her step-brother. "Good evening, Loki. I think it goes well, other than the anger in your eyes, which I do not fully understand."

"Do not call me that any longer," he fumed.

"Loki? But why ever not? I understand he is the god of mischief, but he was always my favourite, actually. He is brave, and funny, and at times even kind…"

He seized her arm and drew her further into the shadow of a column so they could speak without being seen. "My ire has nothing to do with the myths. However, it does remind me of our very unfortunate situation, which I find – if you will pardon the expression – utterly damnable."

* * *

Jane pressed her for a visit the following day, but Natasha longed to recline among the trees and finish her chapter. Book in hand and with one of her old dresses on, she allowed her curls to tumble over her shoulders and forego a hat. What could be the harm? There would be no one there to see her.

With a pleasant sigh, Natasha sank onto her customary stone bench by the fountain. Stopped up for years, the new army of gardeners had got the waterworks running again, and it made a pleasant background as she opened her book and prepared to read.

"Miss Romanova." Annoyed, she looked up from her chapter, and tried to smooth the lines of frustration away.

"Mr. Wickham, I am surprised to see you here. I thought you and Mr. Thorson returned to town this morning."

Unbidden, he sat next to her so closely their legs touched. Natasha moved away as he continued, "Apparently your friend Jane has caught his eye – just as you have caught mine."

"Mr. Wickham! This is sudden indeed." She jumped up and retrieved her book. "I do not think this is the time nor the place for a conversation. Why not – return for tea, say, with your friend and my stepbrother, and we may all – Oh!"

She gasped in fury as he seized her. "I am tired of teas and conversation," he said, "and apparently you are as well. You may as well have sent up a flag proclaiming your desire for me, sitting alone in the gardens with a book. As though women ever read!" Before she could stop him, he tossed her book into the fountain and pressed his lips to hers.

Furiously she tried to evade him and beat her gloved fists on his shoulders. Her vigours, however, only seemed to increase his passion. She was afraid she might be seriously compromised, when with a surge of relief she heard a furious shout, a crack of leather, and Mr. Wickham was torn away.

Loki, a horsewhip in his hand, let loose the thong over Wickham's head. "How dare you, sir! Take yourself off and begone with you – and I will not have you in my or the lady's presence again!"

"But I simply…" Wickham's complaint was cut off by another crack of the whip, and speedily the gentleman took to his heels, not stopping to look back.

"By God!" Loki swore. "Is this what I might expect from you, madam, about the garden? Consorting with roués at the ungodly hour of noon?"

"Excuse me, dear brother," Natasha hissed, "but I came here to  _read my book!_ " Her voice grew in volume with each word.

"Nonsense. I see no book."

She marched to the fountain and, heedless of her gown, reached in and fetched it out, dripping. "Here is the proof of my innocence, sir. Your friend chucked it into the water since, according to him, women cannot possibly spend their time reading. And then he conducted himself in the most vile manner imaginable, and it is a good thing I am a simple country maid or I would go into a faint this minute, and my volume is ruined, and you are waving a whip around – for which I thank you, now that I think about it." Natasha concluded her speech, realizing her eyes flashed and her chest heaved with emotion.

At the last sentence, a bright smile dawned on Loki's face before it disappeared a moment later. "The idiot I brought here – for which I crave forgiveness – is correct about one thing. You should not be in the gardens by yourself."

"No? Perhaps you are right. Obviously, reading a book is highly dangerous, and thank heavens I have you and your other friends from London to show me the error of my ways. How dare I sit in the sunshine and – wait for it –  _read!"_  Clasping her ruined book to her chest, Natasha gave him a furious look before striding off towards the house.

_What an overbearing titan,_  she fumed.  _Save for the most necessary social functions, I shall speak with him no further._

* * *

For the next few days, Natasha kept her vow. Apart from meals when she murmured the most commonplace polite nothings to her future stepbrother, she kept herself well out of his way. For the most part she read, she drew, or she took walks with Jane and Mr. Thorson who had decided to extend his visit. "The country air is most enjoyable," he declared as the three of them sauntered down a country lane. "I enjoy it. Good for the health, you know."

"Indeed it is, Mr. Thorson," Jane replied.

"I am glad you agree, Miss Foster."

"Absolutely, Mr. Thorson."

Natasha couldn't stop her lips quivering with mirth. For one moment she missed Loki's presence; she knew he would have heard the exchange and appreciated it. Still, that would mean seeing the amusement in his green eyes and, she hastily decided, it was best to avoid such a thing.

"Tell me, Mr. Thorson," she asked, "what say you on the subject of women reading books?"

"Books? I suppose it is well enough. My mother always has her nose in an improving set of lectures or philosophies, which seem to be what she enjoys most. As for myself, I prefer hunting and fishing, but then I am a simple man. Lord Odinson, now, is a much bigger reader than I."

"Loki?" Natasha asked in disbelief.

"What did you call him?" Mr. Thorson asked with a wide smile.

"Natasha has a pet name for him," Jane explained.

"It is perfect!" Mr. Thorson let loose a long trumpet of laughter. "Loki he shall be."

"Oh, dear," Natasha said. "I think he will be very angry with me – but he is usually so in any case."

* * *

Her future brother was indeed furious. "Tell me, madam," Loki began as soon as he found her within a small passage, "did you intend to tell all and sundry about this ridiculous name you have given me – without my consent, I might add?"

"I still do not understand why you dislike it so much," Natasha retorted. "The god of mischief did much good, and it was only because of his bitter circumstances that he brought about Ragnorak in the end. I highly admire him, if you must know the truth."

"It is beside the point! I am Lord Odinson, and should be addressed as such – did you just say you admire him highly?" His black brows twitched together, although his eyes betrayed his confusion.

"Do not let it go to your head. But why are you so angry?" The passage was very small and very dark. Perhaps that was why she saw something else in his eyes, a look that made her breath hitch in her throat. Instantly his breath caught as well, and it seemed to grow warm in the small space.

Footsteps clattered around the corner, and Loki put his hand on her arm. "Let us depart before some fool of a servant…"

"Here." Natasha lifted the cover of the window seat next to them to reveal a set of stairs. She climbed into the dark space and, after a moment of hesitation, he followed. The secret room below was her old hideout, a perfect spot for a romantic young girl bent on finding adventure. Natasha had hidden several candles, a box of matches, and some old furniture below so she could disappear for hours on end to write stories, pour over old maps, practice dueling with an old sword, and read.

She lit one candle now and held it up. "What do you think? You may as well know all the secrets of the estate, since you will inherit it one day."

He looked around and admired the secret room. "I would have loved this growing up – what a place for adventure. Still, it all seems unfair. You are the heiress."

"You must be aware of the laws of the land," Natasha replied coolly. "As the new male heir, you take first place in the line of succession."

"This is what makes me angry," he said between gritted teeth. "We are in this ridiculous position thanks to our parents, and it appears we have no choice in the matter."

"What ridiculous position?" Natasha felt bewildered; the conversation had taken a strange turn.

He turned on her, his teeth bared in anger. "Must I spell it out for you? This." Loki folded her into his arms and covered her mouth with his; before she could move or protest, Natasha found herself being ruthlessly kissed.

It was quite different from Mr. Wickham's advances. This was forbidden, dangerous, secret – and Loki's lips moved gently and firmly on hers. She opened her mouth, trying to beg for a moment to think or at least breathe, and with a jolt of surprise felt his tongue in her mouth.

At that she was lost. Natasha moaned and wrapped one arm around Loki's neck, cupped his face with her hand. Their bodies pressed together, and his fingers wound into her hair, displacing the pins to tumble it down over her shoulders.

Just as suddenly he released her and looked at her, lips still parted, with a terrible spark of discovery and despair in his eyes. "I am acting intolerably, as an unforgiveable savage," he declared.

Natasha didn't know what to reply. It seemed there was nothing she could say. They were bound by the upcoming marriage of their parents, which would make any further consort between them a hanging offense – truly, they were dancing on the edge of a sword.

"I should never have come here with you," Loki said. He strode up the little stairs and raised the hidden cover with one fist. Before leaving her, he gave her one last look, filled with regret and overwhelming sorrow. Then he climbed out of the tiny space and left her, alone and wondering, in the dark.

* * *

Hours later, Loki left the estate and was gone that evening as well as the following day. Jane rode over to visit and declared Mr. Thorson had gone as well, leaving the county much as it was before – quiet and sleepy. Or was it? Natasha wondered. She knew her position had changed forever, and she would never be the same.

The preparations for the wedding proceeded. Her mother protested it was overwhelmingly grand and would cost far too much, but the Duke overrode her complaints and hired more servants, bought a string of horses, matching carriages, hauled in cases of champagne. Huge vases of flowers lined the hall. The old hangings were taken down and replaced with the latest styles from London. Their dinners became much grander, attended with a butler and several footmen; Natasha couldn't help giggling as the three of them sat there at the long table, too far away to say anything to each other beyond polite commonplaces. Her mother's future husband seemed to see nothing wrong with it as he ate lobster patties and quaffed the finest wine.

After several days of this, however, the Duke seemed to grow angry. His face filled with dark clouds as his gaze fell on his son's empty chair. After dinner, when Natasha and her mother were just about to withdraw, he declared, "'Tis time my son were here to wait on me! Does he think he may spend his days playing the fool? Fetch me the estate agent, so I may send for him at once!"

"Your Grace!" Lady Romanoff protested. "Perhaps he is busy…"

"At once!" he shouted, sending his chair flying. He strode out of the chamber, leaving Natasha and her mother huddled together.

"What have I sold us to?" Lady Romanoff whispered. "What has happened to our peaceful house?"

"Shhh," Natasha soothed her. "I have heard it said relations between fathers and sons are always charged with violence and mystery, yet also based on love. Once you are married and all is settled, we shall go back to our quiet ways."

Her mother looked full in her eyes. "Do you really believe this?"

Praying that her true thoughts would not betray her, Natasha nodded.

* * *

Two days later, Natasha was coming down the large stairs with a pile of books in her arms, when the Duke arrived with Loki. Dragging his son by the ear, his Grace pulled him up the steps. "Think to say No to me, whelp? By God, I will put up with no more of your frets and tricks! Time to get you a wife, and settle down as I have, sir."

She flattened herself against the wall as Loki was born upstairs, protesting. "I was engaged in expanding my library, Father, not wenching or gaming as you have accused…" His face flushed with fury as father and son passed her on the steps.

It must have been intolerable for Loki to be born so past his future sister – past any woman in that state. But worst of all was the memory of their last shared moment – the sweet, forbidden kiss, his intense confession, her confusion… At that instant, she felt a piercing sadness enter her chest and knew she would have done anything to spare him his pain.

And she knew something further – despite being a lady reared to the gentle ways of country nobility, she had fallen irrevocably in love with her future brother.

* * *

In order to escape the wedding preparations and her own thoughts, Natasha found an old gown and a basket and headed to a small copse of trees at the corner of the estate. There were blackberries there, and she intended to fill her basket and make a plate of tarts for the Duke. Perhaps it would sweeten his mood along with his palate.

The day was fine, and as she slipped into the cool gloom of the shadowed woods she began to hum an old song. "And who but my Lady Greensleeves?" Natasha caroled as she picked the berries and put them into her basket. They were bursting with juice, and she couldn't help putting one into her mouth to taste.

"Sweets?" an ironic voice said behind her.

Natasha shrieked and nearly dropped her basket. "Loki!" she gasped. "You are as silent as a cat. I had no idea you were behind me."

"How unusual." Unbidden, he stole a berry from her basket and put it between his lips. "I am certain you heard me last night as my father dragged me up the stairs in front of you, shouting loud enough for the entire county." He swayed as he spoke, and a dreadful suspicion came over her.

"Loki," she asked in a stern voice, "are you foxed already?"

A sarcastic smile spread over his face. "Why not? Father thinks I am a wastrel, so why not play the part? I may as well gamble away my portion and drink his brandy, not to mention allow my passions full force…"

With that, he tossed her basket aside and pressed her against a tree trunk. Natasha uttered a squeak of protest before he kissed her passionately, his tongue instantly surging into her mouth as soon as she sighed with anger.

She struggled against him, and at once he let her go and stepped away. "And you would have none of a pup who is led by the ear past you, is that it? Fair enough – I will waste no more of your time."

"Stop!" Natasha shouted.

His slim figure halted in the act of striding off through the woods. "Well?"

She ran forward and curled her fingers in his collar. "Kiss me with love or with passion – I do not care which – but do  _not_  kiss me with anger towards another again. I will not put up with it."

Her eyes stared straight into his, not flinching. A strange sort of awareness seemed to come over him, and his spine stiffened. "By God! Do you mean this what you say?"

"I have never been more in earnest. What your father did was entirely out of bounds, but of course that is none of my concern. Let us keep that as a separate affair – what occurs between you and me belongs to naught but us."

He smiled at that – his sudden, rare, almost blinding grin. With one sweep of his arm he crushed her to his chest and kissed her again – a sweet embrace, filled with passion. Natasha felt a bolt of lightning go through her, and she held him as closely as she could, her heart thudding in her chest. She feared she might faint. It was as though she had been asleep for years, and this stranger among the trees had suddenly woken her into an overwhelming dream.

Loki pulled her closer and moved his lips to her neck. "I feel the same way," he whispered into her ear. "There is no hope – how can you and I stand next to each other in front of other feeling this between us the while? It is as though I knew you already, and all I want…"

Her head fell back and she looked up at him with half-closed eyes. Frightening knowledge lay in his green eyes – shadows of the marriage bed, of what happened in hidden chambers behind closed doors. "What are we going to do?" she whispered into his chest, and he shuddered.

"I cannot think even so far ahead. I can only wonder how I will make it through tonight's dinner with you twenty paces from my side without rising from my seat to reach for you. How will I survive?"

Natasha's mouth opened, and they stared into each other's eyes with horrified comprehension.  _A lifetime of this,_  she realized. And it would only get worse with each day. What of the future, when either she or he – or both – would be forced to marry, to live apart? To see him wed to another would be absolute torture, but to betroth herself to a man she could never love would possibly be even worse. "Oh, my God," she whispered.

Loki gathered her even closer into his arms. "My love," he said shakily. "I am so sorry, for I am the author of these misfortunes…"

"No." Natasha held his face between her hands and spoke with absolute clarity. "No, it would have happened in any case. One or the other of us would have caved in time, and there is no escape. And," she continued, stopping his interruption with one finger on his lips, "indeed I thank you for it. For now I know what it is – what the poets wrote about, and why composers build songs for the angels –  _you_  have given me that. You."

With a groan, Loki kissed her again, gently and yet with the undertone of overwhelming passion, as though she were near a tiger in a cage. At length he released her and said with a gleam of humour, "I am afraid I spilt your berries. My apologies."

One tear spilled down Natasha's cheek as she laughed at him. "Clumsy," she chided.

"Yes. Very much so." They stared at each other in the shadows of the trees, weighed down with love and longing.

* * *

The day of the wedding dawned fair – one of those beautiful autumn days when the sun promised full sunshine and crisp air. Natasha crept down for breakfast, ate as quickly as she could, and managed to escape back to her room without anyone seeing her.

The past few days had been nearly intolerable. In front of the Duke and her mother, Natasha and Loki had tried to keep a front of polite inattention. However, when her mother called them both to have a look at a picture in a book, or when they had to sit next to each other and listen to Jane play the pianoforte, it was nearly impossible to keep still. The previous morning she had to set next to him in the carriage for a full hour's ride, and by the end of it she thought she would lose her mind.

It didn't help that Loki's solution was to set up a desperate flirtation with a very pretty widow who lived nearby. Natasha suspected he was trying to keep any whisper of gossip away from her, but as he bent over Mrs. Turner's vivacious face at the local assembly it was difficult to feel any satisfaction about it.

And so it was with a sense of relief Natasha greeted the wedding day. It was the worst, it was what she feared, but once it was done it would be over for good. Perhaps she could talk her mother into allowing her a trip to the Continent once things settled down – a six-month sojourn in Europe, traipsing around dusty museums and writing travelogues would erase Loki from her mind somewhat.

She took a quick bath and got dressed in a new gown. Her hands trembled as she submitted to having her hair dressed – soon she would have to sit next to him in the church and listen to the age-old vows exchanged by lovers for centuries. Selecting a slender pendant for her throat, pearl drops for her ears, and the proper gloves, she lingered as long as she could. Finally, she could put it off no longer and went down to the morning room, where a cluster of people waited to go to church.

Loki was there, already deep in a long conversation with the fascinating widow. Natasha turned away and chatted to Jane instead, managing to hide her dismay; after a moment Mr. Thorson joined them.

"Do you like the new curtains? We were just admiring them," Jane said.

"I do, very much," he replied with his usual pleasant smile. "And it is a very beautiful aspect of the park from the windows from here."

"Indeed it is! I was just thinking as much."

_Wonder if she would agree to wearing horns and galloping through the forest if he asked_ , Natasha thought. She couldn't help a small giggle at the thought, and as she did she caught Loki's eyes. He was watching her with a yearning, pleading expression, and she knew it was returned in her own glance.  _We might as well kiss in front of everyone,_  she realized, and then she saw Jane had noticed.

A troubled frown appeared on her friend's face, and she took Natasha's elbow, excused herself to Mr. Thorson, and moved them apart from the company. "Dearest," Jane murmured, "are you well?"

Natasha made a desperate attempt at a smile. "Of course! Why do you ask?"

"It is Lord Odinson. The way he looks at you…"

Natasha turned and blindly sought the protection of the wide window coverings. "Do not," she whispered. "Please."

Jane sucked in a small, shocked breath. "Is it really so for you both?"

With a small nod, Natasha shuddered. "There is no hope. Today we become brother and sister. And so we must live for the rest of our lives, and thus – we must forget it ever happened as quickly as we can."

Her friend wound one arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. "Oh, my love," she said. "I am so sorry – I know it is cold comfort, but if you would speak of it or seek rest, do not hesitate to come to me."

"I will remember. Thank you – thank you, Jane."

So the secret was out. Knowing that it could only grow from thence like an avalanche, Natasha vowed to forget all that had happened and concentrate on herself, on her friends, and on her mother.

She had just made this determined decision when she and Jane were interrupted by none other than Mr. Wickham; somehow the irritating man must have finagled an invitation to the wedding. He insinuated his person between them, propped his arms on their shoulders, and chuckled. "Well!" he said in his loud voice. "Seems I have caught two birds with one cast."

Jane made a soft remonstrance and tried to extract herself, but he tightened his grip. "Mr. Wickham," Natasha stated, "I believe you are wanted over there."

"And I believe I am wanted here." He grinned into her face and pressed closer.

"Sir, I think the ladies requested an end to your presence." Loki and Mr. Thorson had appeared right behind them and both wore a look of thunderous anger.

"Jealous?" Wickham flashed. "You cannot be – this is your sister by rights, and you should be farming her out for marriage to get her off your hands, else you will have a dowager spinster in your attics for all eternity … Oof!"

Loki's fist caught Wickham neatly on the chin. The man spun, clutched at the new curtains, and fell to the floor.

Instantly there was a flurry of dismay and surprise from the company. Mrs. Turner declared she felt faint and needed smelling salts. Lady Romanoff hurried over to make certain Natasha and Jane were well. And the Duke stalked to the group, gripped his son's shoulder, and stated in a deadly voice, "I have warned you for the last time, sir – stop creating dramatic scenes where none are needed."

"I should hardly say that, Your Grace," Lady Romanoff replied. She drew herself up to her full height and looked her betrothed in the eye. "Your son merely was defending my daughter's honour, to his credit."

"Nonsense. The boy is always a nuisance – ever since the first day I clapped eyes on the whelp, he was nothing but trouble…"

"Your Grace," Lady Romanoff interrupted. She drew off her engagement ring and handed it to him. "I am so dreadfully sorry, but I cannot be married to you today – nor any day."

That announcement stopped all conversation in the room. Mrs. Turner seemed to recover on her own so she could goggle the group by the window. The other guests seemed to whisper among themselves and traipse out of the room, perhaps realizing their attendance was superfluous.

"What idiocy is this? On our wedding day, wife? We will have none of these faints and folderols. Off we shall go to the church for our marriage, as you have promised." The Duke was beginning to bluster.

"No." Lady Romanoff shook her head. "I have made up my mind, and I do sincerely apologize with all my heart it had to be done thus, but I cannot in all good conscience marry you."

"Mr. Thorson," Jane suddenly interjected, "would you do me the favour of escorting me to the carriageway? I want to make certain my horse is prepared."

"Of course." The tall man offered her his arm, and together they moved out of the room.

"Mother," Natasha began, but Lady Romanoff waved her protests away.

"You of all people, Natasha, must understand. There will be no wedding today."

"We must talk about this in the library  _now,"_  the Duke insisted.

He bore her to the door, and Natasha and Loki were left behind in the empty room. For a moment neither of them spoke; it was as though they were frozen. One tear slipped down her cheek, and with an exclamation he produced a handkerchief and gently wiped it away.

As though that action released them, she found herself in his arms, being mercilessly kissed. "Darling, when?" he gasped when he could speak.

"Not now," she cautioned.

"Of course. But," Loki added in a dangerous tone, "I will not wait much longer."

"I do not believe any of those things your father said were truly meant," Natasha added. "He was hurt, and angry…"

"And as usual, I was the first target. Do not concern yourself, it has always been thus between us. I expect it by now."

Natasha kissed him again – his lips, his eyelids, his neck. "He will be even angrier when he discovers the truth," she whispered.

"I do not care, and neither will you. Somehow we shall bring it about."

And with those words, Natasha realized that instead of attending a wedding, she had become engaged.

* * *

_**One Year Later** _

Forgoing the long honeymoon in Italy almost expected by society, Natasha insisted on a quiet month in a small hunting box own by the Duke near the Lakes. She and Loki arrived in the carriage, both quite breathless – he had spent the entire ride kissing her on the well-sprung seat.

Impatiently he submitted to being congratulated by everyone in the tiny house. He and Natasha had to be shown around the gardens, to see how the apple trees were faring. The gamekeeper had him inspect the fowling pieces. Natasha was given a tour of the upper rooms. A large luncheon was produced, complete with various types of game.

Loki bore with it pretty well, although Natasha had to smother her laughter when he made faces at her as he bit into a pheasant pastie. He followed with a broad wink, and she had to pretend to have a crumb caught in her throat.

There were toasts drunk and several casks of cider sent to the downstairs. Loki's valet bore down on him, intent on removing his boots so they could be polished, but at that he had enough. "Be off!" Loki thundered, slammed the doors of the bedroom shut in the man's face, and turned the key in the lock.

"Darling, was that not a little…oh!" Natasha was swept off her feet and born to the bed, where her husband fell on top of her and kissed her breathless.

"I thought that would never end … the carriage … and the tour… and the toasts…I shall be damned if I have boots polished on top if it…" Loki punctuated his sentence with more kisses.

"I know – but what about those boots though? They look rather tight. How the hell am I to get them off you, unless you prefer to wear them to bed?" Natasha warded him off with her arm.

"Ah." Loki rolled to his back, extended one long leg, and gestured. "You must straddle me, thus, and of course it helps if I push with the other foot."

"You do not dare!" Natasha tossed her head back with laughter as she climbed onto his leg and pulled the gleaming top boots off.

"Oh, I dare. And how are we to take your corsets off? Really, darling, this business of clothes in our century is ridiculous. We need to revolutionize fashion in the country, do you not agree?" Somehow he had her dress off and underclothes unlaced as he spoke, and Natasha stopped laughing. "Frightened of what follows?" he whispered.

"I would be lying if I told you I were not." She gazed up at him, wide-eyed.

Loki kissed her again, very tenderly. "It might hurt a bit at first, and for that I am sorry, but I promise you it will be better soon, love. But let us kiss longer – you seem to enjoy it."

"And you do as well, you fraud," she declared. Loki's lips descended on hers again, and she pulled him close. He was hers – he was all hers, at last. Their nightmare was over, and she would never allow anything between them again.

Except for –  _that._  The length of him pressed into her belly, and she locked her feet around his waist, making Loki groan. Before she could protest, he slid inside her with one long, delicious thrust. She had been waiting so long, and their kisses had made her so passionate, that as soon as she felt him she began to pulse, to release around his shaft, and it must have been the same for him, since he shouted into her neck as he poured his seed into her.

"Oh, darling!" Loki groaned. "I did not mean…love, did I hurt you?"

"It was ecstatic," she whispered, and kissed him. "When can we do it again?"

"Give me a few minutes," he panted. "Darling, you are heaven underneath me. I just lost all control – unforgivable, really …"

"You are still inside," she laughed. "It feels so funny – and yet right, at the same time. As though it is where you are meant to be."

Loki shifted, took in a deep breath, and moved his hips slowly. "By God, I  _am_  ready to have you again. That morning when I thought our parents would wed and all was nearly lost! I was ready to take you in my arms and leap over a cliff. Would you have come with me?"

"Leap over a cliff?" Natasha closed her eyes and moved with him. "Oh, that does feel very nice. Even nicer this time, if possible. Yes, I would have gone with you. Leaping over a cliff sounds fantastic if such a short flight is with you."

"Natasha." Loki said each syllable, drawing it out as he moved inside her. "You are – you are truly wanton and noble at the same time – a perfect combination. And may I tell you something? This tickles me so I feel we are on the rock's edge about to fall." His breath came in short gasps, over her face, into her hair.

"And may I respond with something very naughty? It tickles me as well, right inside, in the parts no one should ever talk about, except I am going to tell you and only you…"

Their talk excited them. It was forbidden, it was wild – Jane would have fainted if she knew. The Duke would have a coronary. "He is getting even harder, darling," Loki gasped.

"And she even wetter – is that all right?"

"Oh, yes! Yes, darling! Yes!" Loki threw his head back and Natasha spent with him, shaking with passion and fever.

When she could speak again she asked, "And you mean to tell me we have a lifetime together to enjoy this? Again and again?"

His response was further kisses. And just as she was about to fall asleep, Loki whispered sadly, "I think I have something for you, darling."

A jolt of recognition shot through her. "Oh – oh no. Is this the end already?"

He gave a despairing cry and kissed her as though it was their last embrace. "I am afraid so – but I will seek you again, my heart's own love, my lovely girl. My red beauty, my dangerous assassin."

Natasha received the tiny coloured square in her palm and claimed his lips and tongue, until they were both gone.

* * *

_**AND - Another shout out to my reviewers. You make my writing life magical.** _


	8. There Are No Men Like Me – The Carpathian Mountains, 1883

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes - I'm not very happy with this reworking of Dracula, but it is what it is. Hope it whiles away your time on the train, bus, or helicarrier. And thanks for the lovely comments and follows /faves, dear readers!

_**The Sixth Piece** _

* * *

**_Letter from Natasha Romanova to Jane Foster_ **

_My Dearest Jane –_

_I have arrived in the Count's domain and have not, as yet, succumbed to either seduction nor disemboweling; therefore, dear friend, you may lay your fears at rest. There was no other choice, as we both know – if I did not continue my late husband's export business I would lose my dwelling and have to live with my aunt. And that, Jane, would lead to murder. Once I heard her parrot tell me I was a red-headed wench again I would have to wring its neck._

_The country is just as we expected. The people live simply and seem to understand my mangled attempts at their language. The atmosphere is dark, due to the surrounding mountains, but you know I try to have a great deal of commonsense and do not allow myself to become lowered over such things as that._

_If all goes well with the Count, I will secure a new, large customer and thus save my husband's business. I am, therefore, most anxious to provide a good impression and have brought my most serviceable, staid clothes as a sort of armour._

_Those here at the inn tell me the Count is a sort of haunted figure. He never leaves his castle, and thus a great deal of legend surrounds him. Apparently I will be the first foreigner to lay eyes on the fellow in years. Naturally, my curiosity is piqued and I look forward to the experience._

_Once all goes well, as I am certain it will, I will write to let you know all that occurred. In the meantime, I stay at the local inn. Tomorrow I mount the final carriage to take the last leg of my long journey – to the Castle of Count Loki. My goodness! Does that title not conjure up all sorts of gothic, dramatic images? I am certain there will be a skull in my linens drawer at the very least!_

_But of course I exaggerate, my dear friend. Probably all the excitement is for naught, and the Count is a red-faced squire with a cheerful wife and several fat dogs lolling on the fireplace._

_With all my dearest love,_

_Natasha_

* * *

_November 13, 1873_

Although Natasha wrote cheerful words to her friend Jane, she could not help experiencing a delightful frisson of fear as she mounted the carriage waiting to take her to the castle. The driver was a silent, morose man who hurled her carpetbag onto his conveyance as though he had a personal grudge against it. The redheaded widow determined he would receive none of her English shillings as a tip.

The trip was long but relatively uneventful. They left shortly after a midday meal, and once they had driven for several hours Natasha began to hear the howls of wolves.  _What a good thing I packed my fowling piece and dueling pistols!_  she reflected. However, it seemed there would be no need – the creatures kept their distance.

When the carriage drew up at the castle, a young moon was already rising over the peaks of the tall mountains. She was rather faint from hunger by this point, but the wretch refused to carry her bag into the place – again, he hurled it at her and drove off as though the hounds of hell were after him.

Bag in hand, she knocked and was admitted into a long, stone passageway by a dour-looking woman with long black hair. She seemed to be a sort of housekeeper; Natasha determined to stay on her good side in order to secure herself clean sheets and a ready supply of hot water.

The widow was shown into a huge study with a crimson carpet and pile so deep she nearly sank up to her ankles. Several massive chairs were grouped in front of a large desk, covered with piles of parchment papers and ancient books.

Rising from the chair – it looked more like a throne – was the Count himself. Natasha later found difficult to adequately describe the impression he gave when she wrote in her journal; all she could say was he seemed extremely young and, at the same time, completely arrogant.  _Alas for my fantasy of the red-faced squire!_  she thought, smiling at her own rueful memory. The man in front of her bore the palest skin and blackest hair she had ever seen, with green eyes that seemed to know exactly what was in her mind, and what was more, what she would look like if she were entirely naked.

"Mrs. Harker?" he asked.

Natasha bowed in response. "I am she. I trust you received my letters regarding the business and the recent changes in the business."

"I did, but they did not tell me you were so young. And why did you look amused just now?" His voice was low, smooth – it was like listening to a tiger purr. The result was pleasant yet frightening at the same time, perhaps because of the whiteness of his teeth as well as the length of his incisors, which almost looked like fangs.

"Old enough to have married and been widowed…" Natasha began, but he interrupted with a quick, impatient gesture.

"That means nothing. Your parents could have decided you were too wayward and needed a husband to temper you. Or perhaps you foolishly thought you were in love with a schoolmaster or local cleric. Is that it? Was it love, Mrs. Harker?"

The conversation had taken a very strange turn, and it was obvious the count was trying to unsettle her. "Shall we discuss your business matters, Count? I have the papers here…" she said, but once more he stopped her.

"Not so fast. Now that I have seen your youth and beauty, I am not at all certain you are the one to handle my affairs."

Natasha stifled a sigh; it was the classically male "I will bring you down a few levels because of your appearance" tactic. She opened her mouth to argue, but her hunger and the heat in the room seemed to overcome her. Before she knew what was happening, she swayed and nearly fainted.

The next thing she knew, Natasha was in a chair with the Count at her side. He bent over her, his head close enough to brush her cheek. "You are weak with hunger and exhaustion. It was unforgiveable of me not to take care of you better. Gerda!" he added in a shout.

The tall, dark woman from before came in with a tray of food as well as a glass of wine and set it on a table nearby. She darted a malevolent look at both Loki and Natasha and whisked out of the room. "I call her Angerda," the Count whispered in the widow's ear. "She is continually furious."

Natasha, had already cut the chicken paprikash and started to eat, but she could not help laughing, and the Count gave her an answering smile. "My plan was to win her over with a series of coins," she admitted. The food was delicious – spicy and a perfect complement to the chilled wine.

"Any kindness you may give her will be returned fivefold with petty cruelties and a determination to despise you."

"Why employ her then? And will you not join me for dinner?"

"There is no one else who will stay with me." He moved away as he said it, and Natasha could a sad look in his eyes. "I have already eaten, but I do thank you for the offer."

"Will you not tell me a little of the countryside and the history of the castle?"

"It is a long and sad tale with quite a bit of violence." He continued to tell some warm tales of his heritage, and as he spoke she finished her dinner and pushed the plate away.

"Are you ready to discuss your business? Or are have you decided to dispense with my services altogether?" Natasha asked.

"Altogether? I do not believe so." There was a look of – something – in his face when he said that, and she reflected the only word to describe it was Mischief. "So quick to turn to business - why do we not chat awhile? I can show you the castle, or we could play a game of tablă. Or do you prefer music?"

"I do like music, very much, but I really think we should…"

Too late. He stalked to a beautifully made phonograph with a large horn, wound up the machine, and placed a recorded tube inside it. A series of lovely notes emerged – a waltz based on a Carpathian folksong, Natasha imagined.

The Count held out his hand and beckoned. "Dance with me," he commanded.

There she stood in her travel-stained dress, being summoned by a man of foreign nobility who seemed to be slightly out of his mind. Still, Natasha thought of the business proposition hanging in the balance, of her livelihood, and her aunt's parrot.

She hoped she did not blush too much. Natasha had to admit the Count himself seemed to have exerted his influence of her as he drew her into his arms for a simple waltz. Jonathon, her late husband, was never much of a dancer, and so it had been many years since she glided and twirled with a partner.

The Count was faultless – he guided her around the room with one hand lightly holding hers, one arm around her waist. His touch was colder than she expected, despite the large fire burning in the hearth. "You are shivering," he observed.

"It was cold outside…" A simple excuse, and there was a twinkle in his green eyes when Natasha said it.

"Of course, you must be tired. Allow me to show you to your rooms." He released her with one of his sudden gestures and stalked out to the hallway, up a massive spiral staircase, to a long passage lined with doors.

She tried to ignore the impropriety of all this. In England it would have been unthinkable for a host to conduct an unattended female to her sleeping quarters.

At her room he stopped. "Good night, Mrs. Harker." Count Loki raised Natasha's hand to his cool lips and quickly walked away.

Once in her room – a large, comfortable salon with every possible luxury – she prepared to retire. The bed was large with rich hangings, more thick carpets, large bathing chamber, as well as a long closet filled with robes and fashionable gowns apparently for her use.

Natasha washed as quickly as she could, got into her own old nightgown with the darned elbows, and despite her exhaustion, lay awake for several hours.  _What if I lose the commission and the business?_  she couldn't help thinking.  _What will become of me then?_

* * *

_November 15, 1873_

During the day she had nothing to do. The Count left her a note on her breakfast tray, informing her he would be busy until nightfall and he would attend her at dinner. In the meantime, he added, Natasha was free to explore the unlocked rooms of the castle or the large library.

She took a long bath, got dressed (in her own suit, not one of the gowns provided) and left to wander around the grounds. The castle was built into the side of one of the mountains, and so the forests in front were gated in, with no boundaries at the back save for the sheer rock. It must have made the place a formidable fortress in the past.

The entire castle was deserted, as far as she could tell.

Inside, the silence was just as acute. Once Natasha finished writing the events of the previous day in her journal, she went over the business papers for the Count and ate a small meal provided by the dour Gerda. Once more it became apparent why Loki called the woman Angerda – she snapped whenever the widow tried to ask a question.

In the large library Natasha searched the shelves and found a novel to read. The hours before dinner she spent relaxing in front of the fire, caught in a story of a God who fell in love with a mortal. It was frivolous and silly, but she found myself growing attached to the characters and actually worrying if all would turn out well for them in the end. In fact, she was so absorbed she did not notice the time, and when Natasha finally lowered the book it was a huge shock to see the Count in the chair opposite hers, his fingers steepled as he watched her intently. When she gasped and started, he leaned back, grinned with delight at her confusion and asked, "Do you enjoy the story?"

Laughing a little, she admitted she did. "In fact, I never heard you enter the room. My apologies."

"That much was evident. But no apologies are needed – it was very pleasurable to watch you read, to see the emotions cross your face as you lost yourself in the fiction. Tell me," he added, "why do you wear such an old dress? Why did you not put on one of the gowns I provided for you?"

"Count," Natasha sighed, "could we please concentrate on our business? It is necessary to set up the shipments you want, to put the items on the various manifolds, to hire the crews and ships…"

"Yes, yes. I have the papers here, all signed and sealed with my personal emblem. The items are already en route. The ships are at the dock, waiting – all you need to do is set up the imports at your end, in England. Which, I hope you will do via the post. I would like you to stay for a few more days -perhaps another week."

"But I cannot possibly…"

"I will double your usual payment."

This made her jaw drop open. "Count…"

"Loki, please."

She tried to grasp control of the conversation. "Loki, the usual fee is fine. Of course I can make arrangements by letter, but I really do not see another week's stay is necessary."

"A month then?" He grinned, and she realized he was jesting. Natasha had never seen anyone so high on the social ladder be quite so mischievous. "You would have to wear one of my gowns in that case."

"Another good reason to depart earlier."

He pretended to look hurt. "The clothes I left for you are from Paris and are the latest modes! Just because I live in this remote area does not mean I do not have access to the finer things in life."

Dinner was brought in, and again Loki did not eat. Gerda served the food with her usual insolent expression, and once the woman left Natasha broached a delicate subject. "Will you come to London yourself, Count, to make certain all goes well with your shipments?"

That earned her a wide smile, complete with the white teeth and prominent incisors. "Mrs. Harker, is this an invitation?"

"I only trust you would wish to see for yourself…"

"In fact, I will take it as such. Yes, indeed I will. And I told you to call me Loki, do you recall? In fact, what is your first name, Mrs. Harker?"

There was no choice – she could not offend such an important client. "Natasha," she replied, most unwillingly.

Loki's smile widened. "A beautiful name," he breathed. "I trust your dinner is to your liking?"

"It is delicious. I wish you would join me in a drink, at least, Count – er, Loki."

"Perhaps in time I shall, Natasha."

* * *

After dinner he insisted on showing her the Romanian game of tablă, which was surprisingly entertaining, and when he won all three rounds they danced again. He waltzed her through several discs' worth of music, and as they danced he asked her questions – What sort of things did she like to do? What type of paintings? What was her favourite shade? And when she asked him the same thing, he instantly responded, "Red, at the moment," and caressed a strand of her hair.

At that point it become obvious the Count had decided to take up a flirtation with her – for what reason, she was not certain. In any case, she made her excuses and, as before, he showed her to her room. There Loki raised Natasha's hand to his lips and, before she could escape, cupped her chin in both hands and passed his thumbs over her cheeks. The widow's heart pounded as she expected a kiss and wondered how she would react, but instead he let go and strode off.

* * *

_November 16, 1873_

Natasha finished the novel about the God and the mortal, and when she replaced the volume on the shelves she found it was the first of a series. Immediately she started in on the second volume, agog to discover what would happen between the two. Once she started reading there was no turning back – she was lost to the world, suspended in a fantasy about gods, other realms, and adventure.

This turned out to be a salvation as the Count never appeared that evening. Instead Natasha was handed a letter on heavy stationery with dinner, stating he was unavoidably detained and would meet with her on the morrow.

She dreamt of the Count when she retired. Loki pursued her through long black corridors, and when he caught her as they both knew he would, he held her against the stone wall and embraced her. But not on the lips; instead he kissed her neck, and Loki's teeth were so sharp she cried out.

At that Natasha thought she woke to see shadowy figures in her room, dark shapes with red eyes that advanced on her, pinned her down on the bed, all crawling over each other to get to her. As she cried out the Count appeared again with a whip in his hand, and he slashed at the shapes and shouted, "I have told you she is  _mine!_  Touch her again at your peril or I will have you staked!"

The shapes disappeared. Natasha was left in the darkness, and she saw his eyes glow – not red, but green. She trembled, thinking he would approach, but with a sudden exclamation he disappeared. It must have been a dream, for darkness covered her and she remembered no more.

* * *

_November 17, 1873_

The morning dawned heavy and gray, to Natasha's disappointment. She had hoped to go for a long walk among the dark trees in order to soothe her mind and inspire her to find a way out of the castle. In truth, she had to admit she was beginning to fear for her very sanity.

Due to the rain, however, she paced the floors, and at last she descended to see if there were indeed dungeons below the castle. The shadowed halls there were filled with long boxes which she did not dare to touch; she ran back up to the library, shaking with fear.

There her common sense took over. She chided herself and climbed up to the attics, also filled with boxes but more prosaic – old steamer trunks and heavy chests. Natasha's curiosity overcame her and she opened one chest to find it filled with pieces of gold; another was loaded with bright gems and priceless jewels. The third held paintings in ornate frames, and she nearly screamed when she looked at the one on the top. It was a portrait of a red-headed woman in baroque dress, her head tilted back to reveal a long, sloping neck with white skin. The widow had to admit it was a perfect representation of her own face, and fear crawled over her flesh as though spiders had hatched there.

Closing the lid she retreated, recovered her book, and determined to go to the library to read. It had grown dark by this time, and on her way in Natasha saw Gerda show a woman, the most beautiful female she had ever beheld, into the Count's study. The new arrival wore an ornate gown of black that framed her long, golden hair and made her pale skin stand out.

When Natasha heard Loki's voice welcoming the guest into his presence a new emotion came over her. Later she wrote in her journal,  _"Judge me if you will when I tell you I dashed back to my bedchamber and, for the first time, opened the long closet to look for the loveliest gown there. I changed into one of moss-green velvet, bustled in the back and with sloping sleeves that left my arms bare."_

Bathed and newly dressed, her hair pinned up and with pearl drops in her ears, Natasha tiptoed down to the library. She feared the Count would have sent another letter, but no – Loki was already in the room. When she entered he turned and a bright smile flashed across his features when he beheld her. "Ah! Fine feathers, I see, Natasha." The tall man crossed the room in three strides with his long his legs to take her hand in both of his and bring it to his lips. "Indeed, I have never seen anything quite so lovely, and I am a worshipper of Beauty."

"Indeed you must be. I never saw anyone as stunning as the woman who visited you this afternoon." She held his eyes with her own, refusing to back down. "Who is she?"

His wide grin turned into a devilish smirk. "Lorelei is a – necessary evil, nothing more. Already she has returned to her house, and you remain here for as long as I may keep you. Tell me, will you dance with me, Natasha?"

She longed to say No, to refuse him and leave for the relative safety of her bedchamber, yet somehow her lips would not form the words. All she could do was nod in mute acceptance, and once he had wound the phonograph and taken her in his arms, he whirled the widow into a wild waltz, nearly as passionate as any act of love.

Her late husband was a man of business, yet of course Jonathon was also a man. On their wedding night he trembled with passion in her arms and indeed many nights after that. Yet the waltz with Loki was more uninhibited and savage than any act of lovemaking Natasha ever experienced. The Count pulled her to his chest and gritted his teeth as though he was in torment, his eyes never leaving hers; she could only pray her face did not betray the turbulent thoughts going through her mind. It was difficult, however, when he twirled her under his arm to make her dizzy, leaned fully over her while tilting her backwards as though they lay prone in bed together, moved his long legs so he held her between his thighs. During the entire dance Loki's breath scorched her ear and her neck, hot with what seemed like passion and forbidden desire.

As the last notes slid through the air and Loki bent her back in a final twist, his face less than an inch from hers, he whispered, "Your eyes are so wide, as if you were a young girl, not an experienced widow. What I would not give…"

And at that Gerda entered with food and wine. With the interruption the Count set Natasha upright, although their eyes never left each other. "I would speak with you," the dark woman said to him.

"Get out," was his response. And when she did not move, he shouted, "Did you hear me? Get out! Leave us!" She jumped and obeyed, slamming the door behind her.

The loud sound seemed to break the mood. Loki abruptly left Natasha, poured a glass of wine, so dark and red it looked like blood, and handed it to her. "I will not drink unless you join me," she declared.

He appeared to think for a moment. "Very well, although I can only drink one kind of wine." Loki went to a small cabinet by his desk and removed a heavy, square bottle to pour a small glass of wine even darker than what was in her glass.

"To your bright eyes, Natasha," he said, and they touched their glasses together. As she drank, the darkness of the room, the flames of the fire, the strangeness of the situation and the setting seemed to overcome her, and she felt giddy with possibility – with freedom.  _No one knew where she was. Although a respectable widow, at that moment she could do what she wante.!_  She laughed at the thought, and instantly he demanded to know the source of the joke.

Natasha tried to explain, and he nodded. "I remember that feeling, of soaring flight and expanding choices. Hold onto it while you may, for it does not last."

His eyes grew very sad, and she moved forward to brush his long, black hair off his forehead and give him some comfort, even though she did not know the source of his sorrow. At that his hand caught hers at the wrist, and she cried out at his surprising strength. "Do not touch me again, or I will not answer for the consequences," he hissed.

At that Natasha lost her temper and slapped him across his face. "It is too late for that. You know it, and I know it. Cancel our business arrangements if you wish! I will no longer put up with… with…"

Although Loki had recoiled from her strike, he seized Natasha's wrist and brought her very close to him with that strength that seemed more than human. "With what? Do you even know what you want to say? You are eclipsed, is that not so? Tonight I showed you what is available to you, little one, beyond the boundaries of society. Does it frighten you? That I can excite you more with a single waltz than your husband ever did in your bed, during the whole of your marriage?"

She longed to slap him again. Instead she managed to free herself, march to the door, and open it. "Goodbye, Count," she announced without turning around. "Please do me the favour of calling a carriage in the morning. I will pay the driver myself, of course."

With that she came up to her room, to write what had just occurred. Once that was done she packed her few clothes to prepare to return to her homeland. Before she could sleep, however, she had to add one last sentence in her journals:  _"And I pray I shall be able, in due course, to forget what happened here among the mountains, in the forbidding castle of Count Loki."_

* * *

_London 28_ _th_ _January, 1884_

Natasha returned to England, and discovered the mission was somewhat of a success. Even though she left in such a huff, the Count sent his business to the Harker Exports company and, therefore, she was in good straights financially. Not only that, Count Loki was true to his word and doubled his payment. She found herself unusually flush with cash and spent a few days replacing her sadly battered wardrobe.

The business required her time in the mornings, and in the afternoons Natasha attended Jane for visits to her friends or family members. Her friend was in greater beauty than ever, and Natasha counted several gentlemen who longed to make her greater acquaintance. One, a Doctor Seward, was an administrator of an asylum for the insane; the other was a tall, blond fellow by the name of Donner. She felt sorry for the doctor, since she saw definite signs that Jane preferred Mr. Donner.

At the next tea party, it was Natasha's duty to entertain the doctor. She asked him about his institution, and he told her his patients were unusually stirred up. "It happens when the full moon is nigh," he said, "but as we are not at the zenith, I can find no explanation for it."

"Stirred up?" she repeated. "How so, exactly?"

"I had one fellow try to fly from his window. And when we gave him bars, he insists on sitting by them, pressed to the glass as though he were waiting for someone. Or something."

This statement caused a delightful ripple of horror among the ladies present, and Doctor Seward found himself surrounded by women, young and old, all asking about the asylum and whether the inmates were more sensitive to messages from 'The Other Side.' Natasha retreated, amused, reflecting séances were all the rage since she returned, and spent the rest of the afternoon listening to Jane's aunt explain the vagaries of European royal succession.

Jane was incredibly kind, and her family was very welcoming. However, Natasha couldn't help writing later in her journal:  _Let me alone bear the blame, therefore, if I write that I find myself looking towards the window, like Dr. Seward's patient, wishing for a more active mind and a greater excitement – like that which I left behind in the Carpathian Mountains. This desire makes me sad and listless, and I wonder how much longer I can continue to write in this book._

But those times were never to be reclaimed, of course, and she must simply had to learn to forget Count Loki and the evenings they shared in his castle.

* * *

_5th_ _February, 1884_

Jane mother insisted on having a medium conduct a séance in the asylum itself – a strange enough endeavor. The medium was like most of her kind, Natasha supposed – an artsy-looking woman with gypsy shawls and deep-set eyes probably enhanced with the careful use of kohl. Doctor Seward put up several complaints, but as Colonel Foster was the main figure on the board of trustees and donated a great deal to the hospital per annum, the poor man was overruled.

Jane, her mother, several friends, and Natasha arrived and were all seated around a square table covered with green baize. They were told to join hands and, once the lights were lowered save for a single candle, they experienced the usual tricks – flowers that appeared in midair, covered in dew, sudden noises from under the table, a tambourine also in midair. The older ladies proclaimed themselves frightened and said they were ready to go into a faint; Jane and Natasha exchanged amused glances and tried not to laugh.

However, the medium (with the unlikely name of Madame Atossa) suddenly declared there was a spirit in the room who wished to communicate. Her voice changed, she slumped in her seat, and said in a deep voice, "Natasha. I am coming. Over the waves, I am coming. You invited me, and so I am on my way."

The ladies cried out, and Natasha herself had to admit she was taken aback. Madame Atossa had told them not to use names, so how she got the widow's was a matter of some speculation … _although of course,_  she thought,  _these mediums employ a wide variety of tricks to make it look as though they actually have powers._  Somehow she must have found who Natasha was, although – why her? She wasn't rich nor well-known to Society, unlike the other ladies at the table. If Atossa wanted a well-off patron, the medium had chosen the wrong person.

But that was not the only thing bothering her - the voice the medium used when she spoke Natasha's name was Loki's own deep tone. If she had not known better, and if her eyes had been closed, she would have sworn it was the Count himself speaking through Madame Atossa's body.

* * *

_From The Times_

_8th_ _February, 1884_

_One of our most respected citizens writes to inform us of a horrifying event. Mrs. Ashford insists she was followed from her club by a dark figure with red eyes, according to her own words. Thinking it was some trick, she hurried into his residence and had all the doors locked. However, the figure was in her room when she went upstairs, although it disappeared when she shouted for her maid._

_When we met with the lady, she seemed very pale. She says she sleeps deeply since the incidence, but she has very little energy and has found two small red wounds on her throat…_

* * *

_8_ _th_ _February, 1884_

They were supposed to attend a large dance that evening, and Jane insisted Natasha get dressed with her. "For, dear friend, you can make my maid behave and not singe me with the curling tongs!" she said, a hint of laughter in her eyes.

"Very well, although I could arrive in my gown…" Natasha started, but Jane put her foot down.

"Absolutely not. You will be sadly crushed after two carriage rides."

When Natasha arrived, she found Jane had plotted mischief – her friend pressed a new ballgown on her, demanding Natasha wear it instead of her old, brown silk. "You are so lovely – the most beautiful woman in London – and you  _must_  wear this. It will not suit me, according to my mother, and if you take it, I may buy another."

Natasha protested, but the sight of the gown – a black velvet evening dress with tiny sleeves, a long slim bodice and heavy bustle – made her speechless. Jane held it up with a cry of triumph and put her arms around her friend. "Did I not tell you? I would look dreadful in it, but you will eclipse the entire hall."

Dressed and curled, the two friends were born off to the large assembly, in a huge house. "It is to celebrate the arrival of some foreign dignitary," Jane giggled. "For my part, I would rather be in the library reading about Florence Nightengale's exploits in the Crimea… but I suppose we cannot do that."

"No, your mother would certainly complain." Natasha walked into the hall; instantly Mr. Donner surged forward with a huge smile to welcome them. Doctor Seward followed more slowly, and Natasha felt a bolt of relief when she saw the man.

"How do you do this evening?" she asked him. "And how are your patients?"

"Wilder than ever," he sighed. "It is as though they expect something is going to happen, although what it is I have no idea."

"Something is going to happen," she mused. "Do they talk about it? And how is the fellow who was trying to fly?"

"Dead, and pardon me for being so blunt. We found him in his cell, and the odd thing was his body was drained of blood, but there was none spilt on the floor or on his bed – only two small holes on his throat."

"Just like the woman in The Times this morning." Natasha frowned. "How strange! If I were superstitious, I would suppose something very odd is happening…"

"But you are not, and I am not," Doctor Seward laughed. "In these modern times, we cannot think of ghosts, or séances, or such hidden horrors which seem to titillate the public in the newspapers. Tell me, may I have this dance so we may talk of brighter things?"

Natasha accepted, since Jane had already moved off with Mr. Donner. As they moved to the floor and the doctor put his arm around her waist, she caught sight of someone she had not expected to see ever again: The Count. Loki.

So he was the foreign dignitary! What were the chances? Cursing her ill luck, Natasha tried to move as far away from him and watch him at the same time. Loki was dancing with a very beautiful woman, a young debutante with long chestnut curls cascading over her shoulder. She laughed up into Loki's face, and he smiled down at her, his eyes creasing with the same laugh lines she remembered …

Natasha forced herself to attend the movements of the dance and pay attention to Doctor Seward. It was with a huge sense of relief she heard the final strains of music and she was able to escape to a corner, to await Jane and drink a glass of champagne, purloined from the tray of a passing footman. However, Jane was quickly pulled into another dance by the Doctor, and then by Mr. Donner again. Natasha sighed and wondered when she could request to leave. If she sat behind a pillar and mentally rewrote her journal, it might get her through the next few hours...

"Natasha." The deep voice right in her ear caused her to squeak and jump, nearly spilling her champagne.

"Count," she stammered. "How do you do?"

He ignored her question. "I told you to call me Loki. But what is this?" Loki indicated her gown.

She raised her chin. "More fine feathers, although these are also on loan."

He pulled down the corners of his mouth, considering. "Not bad – I like the black. I also think you should wear a subtle shade of green as you did when you stayed with me - or perhaps dull gold. Yes, you would be stunning in gold – like a dragonfly or an oriental princess."

"You are just as unconventional as ever, I see." Natasha raised her chin to look up into his height.

Loki seemed determined to make her blush and stepped closer. "I missed you, Natasha. And it is by your invitation I am here in London at all." His voice became intense, lower – much more intimate.

"Darling, is all well?" Jane stepped up to take Natasha's arm, accompanied by Doctor Sewell and the inevitable Mr. Donner.

"I am quite well, thank you. Count, may I introduce you to my friends?" Natasha made the introductions.

Loki greeted them cordially enough, but he refused to be drawn into any conversation. She watched him as he made a few comments and maneuvered his way to her side. There he demanded her hand for the next waltz.

"That was adroitly done," she commented as he led her onto the floor.

He laughed. "Am I so transparent?"

"Oh, yes. And do not be quite so unleashed as we waltz tonight, please, Count. I hope to make future business clients of some of the guests here tonight, not shock their senses."

His eyes gleamed. "I will do my very best to restrain myself."

So he did, although there was a hidden strain of savagery in the way he propelled her around the room – his fingers lapped just a bit too tight around her wrist, his face closer than society would usually allow, his breath surging into her ear during an intricate turn, his eyes never leaving hers. However, Natasha wondered, was it simply the manner in which the Count – Loki – conducted himself? Or was it something else?

* * *

_9_ _th_ _February, 1884_

First, the flowers began to arrive. After breakfast, armfuls of roses, delphiniums, lilies, and others Natasha couldn't name were brought into her simple rooms by one tradesman after another. Once she ran out of vases, she put the rest in bowls and, finally a teakettle. There was no card, but she suspected the source.

When she finished the meeting with her current client, a silk merchant from Twickenham, she received a letter, written on heavy stationary in a fine hand and sealed with a heavy wax symbol and a ribbon:

_Dear Miss Romanova,_

_Many urgent business matters take up my time during the day, and so I must beg a few hours of your evening. May I escort you and your friends to the opera and to dinner this Friday? You may be assured of a private box, naturally._

_Yours, as always,_

_Count Loki_

As she wrote an acceptance and furthered the invitation to Jane, Mr. Donner, and Doctor Seward, Natasha pondered exactly what she was putting into motion. She felt she was on the brink of something - as though her life was just about to go one way or the other – as though she teetered on the edge of a tall cliff.

* * *

_11_ _th_ _February, 1884_

When Natasha arrived at the Opera House with Jane, a large crowd was already assembled within the large rooms. The Count found them easily, however, and conducted them to a private box where Mr. Donner already lounged, entirely at his ease. "Alas," the blond man said, "The Doctor could not attend – apparently there was a great deal of confusion at the asylum."

Natasha's head snapped up. "Again?"

"It has happened before?" Loki sat in the chair next to hers and handed her a pair of opera glasses. He held up his own on a long handle and peered intently at the stage.

"The doctor told me it had occurred several times." Natasha took off her gloves.

At that he turned to face her. "You have spoken with him many times then? Tell me, are you friends? Or does the doctor approach you with thoughts of marriage, perhaps? Will he be angry when he hears you and I sat so close at the opera, listening to arias filled with passion and love?"

She stared at him for a moment before she lowered her voice. "To be perfectly honest, I believe the man pines for Miss Foster."

"Ah." Loki sat back, a smile of deep satisfaction on his lips. "And have you attended a performance of  _Lucia di Lammermoor_  before?"

Trying to hold back her laughter, Natasha shook her head. "No, and I find it such a treat to be here. It is many years since I attended the opera, and to be in a private box instead of the stalls is luxury indeed."

Jane asked her something about the seats, and she answered her friend. When Loki caught her attention again, he murmured, "You were trying not to laugh at me just now. But I am certain a beautiful woman is triumphantly amused when she knows she has captivated a man."

Natasha had no idea what to respond. She was saved by the lowered lights and the start of the Preludio; however, as Edgardo and Enrico quarreled and Lucia appeared, singing of her love for Edgardo, Loki's finger brushed against hers. She stared straight ahead, convinced it was a coincidence, trying to banish the tingle going through her entire frame at the mere touch of his hand.

During the intermission, the box was invaded by a pack of visitors, all intent on speaking with the foreigner. Natasha counted three debutantes and their mamas, as well as a dowager duchess and her two daughters. At last Loki excused himself and set next to her again to ask, "What did you think of the performance? The colluratura is excellent - so lovely is her voice, I can nearly forget she looks like a maiden-aunt."

"Alas, the lead of Edgardo is the same – his talent makes up for his tiny stature. I was afraid he would be blown away at one point by the maiden-aunt's notes." That made him smile, and during the second act he shifted again. Natasha was not imagining it – Loki's fingertips brushed hers in a gesture so intimate and forbidden it was as though they were clasped together, heart to heart.

Over dinner, he ate nothing but tempted Natasha to more caviar, more oysters, more champagne. Thus, by the time she entered his carriage, having seen Jane off with Mr. Donner to her own house, the widow's head was already whirling. Loki caught her as she stumbled against the pillows of the sprung seats. "Forgive me!" Natasha cried. "Perhaps it is the bubbles, or the opera."

"Or the conversation," the Count laughed. "Tell me, did you miss dancing with me at my castle in the mountains? For I have thought of little else. Will you attend an assembly with me tomorrow? And will you promise me every dance?"

"Count," Natasha began, "I do not know how society is in your country. Here in England, if I promised such a thing, everyone would suspect you and I were…"

"Were – betrothed? Compromised? Lovers?" He whispered the last word, and at that his long fingers inexorably tipped up her chin to kiss her with his cool lips.

And so he had been bent on a seduction after all. Or had he? For as he handed her into her house and her maid, with much tut-tutting came forward to receive Natasha's wraps, he dismissed the woman with a single cold sentence and said, "I cannot stay – if I do, I will – it will be unfair to you. I…" He gritted his teeth, jerked her into his arms and kissed her again with his lips, tongue and those sharp teeth until they were both breathless and panting.

"You must leave," Natasha said softly. He closed his eyes tightly shut, nodded in agreement, and strode out of the house. The door banged shut behind him, echoing throughout her rooms, and she was left alone.

* * *

_The Times, 12_ _th_ _February_

_Another victim has been struck with the same disease, and at least one detective begins to suspect it is not of natural origin but from an assailant. Helped by Doctor Seward, the police have begun a series of investigations to locate a man, tall and with black hair, seen in the vicinity …_

* * *

_14_ _th_ _February, 1884_

Next, the presents began to arrive. There was a linnet in a cage, sets of tiny Chinese bowls, interlocking dolls, a beautifully painted fan. Natasha threw up her hands when she received another of Loki's notes, asking her again to attend the dance with him and, just as he had promised, demanding every number at her side. She thanked heaven that she had several clients to see in the morning so she wouldn't think about the approaching engagement, but once the last man was dismissed she rushed upstairs, wondering what on earth she could wear, and stopped dead.

There, on the bed, lay a huge box. Her maid, sour disapproval written all over her face, lifted up an extremely expensive-looking gown of dull gold, wrought with a fashionably low neckline and matching dance slippers.

* * *

That evening, dressed and curled, Natasha tripped down the stairs to find Loki below, his head thrown back to watch her descend. "I have ever seen anything lovelier in my life," he commented as he settled her among the cushions of the carriage.

The carriage ride passed as in a dream. Neither of them spoke, but Loki captured her hand, played with her fingers, threaded his own through them. The innocent actions were more almost more intimate than his violent kisses. And when they arrived, Natasha saw the shocked faces of several matrons as well as a gentleman she had spoken to about exports; a feeling of terrible embarrassment crept over her body. "Loki," she whispered, "could we speak?"

He bent his head closer to hear. "What is it, love?"

Her voice dropped. "I think this was a really bad idea."

"But why?" He was astonished. "You and are together. Your skin and hair against that dress are stunning, as I thought they would be. Nonsense, love – nothing but good can come of this…"

"However, I have the idea my husband's business will die a natural death if I am the center of gossip." Natasha fiddled with one of her curls and blushed. "I did not think – my only excuse is for once in my life, I did not think first."

"To be clear – you believe you will be censured, look down upon, talked about because you are here with me?" Loki's eyes bored into hers.

"It would not matter who I was with – even a widow does not have the freedom to move about in society without a proper escort."

"And I am not a proper escort?"

"Of course not! You are a man! I should be here with a maiden aunt, or…"

"Or the opera singer from last night? Would that help?"

Natasha couldn't help laughing, but she followed it with a sigh. "This interlude has been like a pleasant dream, but I must wake up to reality."

He frowned and didn't argue any longer; instead he ordered a passing footman to fetch his carriage. As they waited in silence, as they sat apart in the carriage, as he conducted her inside and bade her goodnight with all propriety, Natasha felt her heart sink straight to the bottom of her silk dancing slippers.

* * *

_15_ _th_ _February, 1884_

After that, he sent jewels. When Natasha left her office, fielding several cancellations and a stern demand to hand over her accounts to "someone more responsible," she found a large case with an emerald necklace, a pin studded with diamonds, and a pair of long, golden earrings.

The letter with them read,

_Please meet me on your roof this evening. No one will see us there._

It was signed with a single letter:  _L._

Natasha ran one hand through her curls and gazed around her rooms. Soon rent would be due. If her business failed, where would she go? What ever had she thought, going to the assembly rooms with the Count? It was a mistake she would certainly pay for the rest of her life.

_Because,_  she reflected _, I refuse to keep these trinkets. The man begins to think he owns me…_ She remembered the silent carriage ride home, her running into her house and his face, a dark shape in the window. Neither of them had said a word.

Still, a roof meeting – as strange as it seemed – would be the perfect time to return his gifts, to say goodbye to him once and for all.

* * *

The weather was cold and a steady rain had started to fall. Natasha swore to herself as she walked onto the leads, determined to spend no longer than a few minutes with Loki, when she gasped.

A large white tent sat in the centre of the roof, filled with lit candles. The Count himself sat on a chair, his legs spread wide, but when he saw her he rose and stretched out both hands.

She couldn't help running to his side and sobbing a little as Loki drew her into the tent, folded her in his arms, and pressed soft kisses down her cheek to her neck. "I believe I have compromised you," he whispered. "It was not my intention – I wish things could be different…"

Natasha shook her head. "I cannot accept these." She held out the leather cases containing the jewels Loki had sent her, and he frowned.

"Of course you can. The emerald is large and gaudy, but you may use it as insurance if you do need to leave the city and start a new life."

"A new life?" Warm in the circle of his arms inside the glowing little tent, the flickering lights lit Loki's face. She had never seen any man more handsome.

The white line above his lip tightened as he held her closer. "I wanted to ask you to marry me the first night I met you. If I were less of a man and more of a monster, I would have done so – but I cannot do that, you see."

"But I do not see! Man? Monster? What do you mean?" Natasha felt bewildered.

Loki closed his eyes for a moment. "I really wish I could tell you."

There was a sound from the street, a cry of rage. Natasha peered out but couldn't see anything. "What a strange noise! But I suppose – Loki! What's wrong?"

For he had started and his eyes opened wide with a panicked, fearful expresson. "So soon," he murmured. "I thought I would have longer…" Loki began to frantically search his clothes. He removed his tie pin, inset with rubies, took out a gold watch on a long chain, slipped a heavy signet ring off his finger, and pressed them all into Natasha's hands. "Take this – no, do not argue with me for once, Natasha! You can sell them, use the funds, and buy a house in the country. I will smile to think of you there, living peacefully and perhaps remarrying."

"What? Why are you – please explain. Please." Natasha felt desperate.

"And one more," he added, ignoring her. "It was my mother's, and may not be worth much, but you can keep this to remember me by." He slid a silver ring with a moonstone onto her finger.

And then they knew. Natasha and Loki stared at each other, and the shouts from the street grew louder. "They are coming for me – and I am afraid I did not win you to my bed this round," Loki whispered.

She thought desperately. "Wait! You have to breach me in each age, is that it?"

"Yes, and I did not! Alas, the vagaries of society stopped us, but do not worry, darling. Somehow I will…"

Natasha tossed her head, moved her curls off her neck. "There's still a chance. I know exactly who you are and  _what_  you are - and just do me now, you black-haired idiot."

"Natasha!" he protested, but the bloodlust made his eyes turn red. She felt him seize her again, sink his teeth into her neck. The feeling was painful at first and then exquisite; her legs trembled and she felt a huge, spending release shake her entire frame. Apparently he felt the same; he moaned into her skin and bucked against her belly with an enormous, rearing erection.

"I never wanted to take you that way..." he whispered, clutching her with those cold hands. "But your blood sings to me so beautifully."

"It doesn't matter. We're about to disappear anyway," she said with the last of her strength. "So can I have my get out of jail card?" It was difficult to speak – she felt she was losing her senses.

Loki groaned and parted from her skin; his mouth dripped with her blood. "Here – here it is."

She received the little coloured square and gave him her direct, blue, flashing gaze. "When we get back to Asgard, by the way – and we will – this is  _not_  over. I have some serious problems with you in the first place…"

"Love, the mob after me is almost here," Loki whispered in her hair.

Natasha continued as if he had never spoken. "… plus, we're going to roleplay this whole scenario once I'm done being mad as fuck at you."

At that, he raised his eyebrows. "Really! Hm, sounds interesting."

The door to the roof burst open. Doctor Seward, in front of a group of men and women carrying lanterns and sharp, wooden stakes, confronted the pair. "Loki!" he shouted. "It is the end for you – foul Vampyre, release the woman and prepare your damned soul for eternity!"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Sheesh, bad screenplay much? OK, I'm jumping with you. Ready?"

Hand in hand, the couple ran to the side of the building. Loki and Natasha looked into each other's eyes; he held her as closely and gently as if she were china.

And then they jumped.


	9. The Magic of Gears and Clockworks – England, 1905

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE - A little steampunk AU today, since it is Halloween and I'm feeling the steamy love.

She remembered nothing but cold and hunger. In Natasha's world you either stole or went without, and she learned quickly how to slip a purse or a wallet from someone's pocket, to cut a watch from a gentleman's vest and even slide jewels from a lady's earlobes as she gossiped with a friend. Natasha had nearly been caught twice; both times she was able to nip away at the last minute. She slept in corners, old sheds, boxes. She ate what she could buy with her pennies and what was chucked out in bins.

She survived.

The real problems came when she grew older. Natasha's body matured, and she started to attract curious glances from passersby in the streets. When she saw lust in the face of a gent and knew he would do anything to have her – accuse her of a crime, pretend to interrogate her, use that time to rape her – she decided she had to make a change.

Flush with cash from a recent robbery, Natasha purchased a long strip of muslin, breeches, and a man's shirt. She paid Leaky Meg a florin to cut her hair off; the remaining red curls were covered with an old cap. With the muslin she bound her breasts and put the shirt on; once she was able to find an old jacket, the change was complete. Natasha was now Nat, a young man down on his luck but not nearly as unlucky as a girl would be in the same position. So determined was she to survive, she thought of herself as a boy.

'She' was now a 'he.'

* * *

After a long day of unsuccessful attempts on several purses, Nat caught sight of a handbill in the corner of a shop window. "The Amazing Loki," it read. "Magician to the Heads of Europe." Under that was written in angry, scrawling script a quick message: "Searching for an assistant who does not steal."

Nat pulled down the corners of his mouth. A job would mean steady food, perhaps a place to sleep. The young man went in search of the Loki fellow, certain the magician had already left town and it was too late.

For once, luck fell Nat's way. Luck, or more likely whiskey and home brewed; Loki was found in a small room of an ancient inn sleeping off a long drunk, according to the disgusted landlady. The magician lay sprawled across an untidy bed, long limbs spread out, dark lashes fanning against his pale cheeks.

Nat thanked the lady and sat in a chair to wait for the magician to awake. The room was warm after the cold winter air outside, and after a while he found himself growing drowsy. The chipped plaster walls faded, and he fell into a dream about a palace, a cat, an orchestra made of up mice, and the magician himself. Nat wore a long dress, and the black-haired man kept trying to lift her skirts…

"Who are you?" He awoke with a jerk, his ear in the fist of the Amazing Loki. The magician was fully awake, and his green eyes blazed into Nat's. "Street rat? Arab? Trying to steal my secrets?"

Scrambling to his feet, Nat shook his head. "Nay, came for the job. Beg pardon – I fell asleep. 'Tis the warmth, you see," he added.

Loki tossed him aside with contempt. "How may I be certain you will not steal from me? By God, I am tired of young, sniveling boys trying to take my goods and start their own business…."

Nat knew how to lie. He held Loki's eyes with his own and stated, "I'll not steal from you, master. I ask naught more than food and lodging, and a copper if you have a good day. You only need to do your work, and I'll take care of the rest."

The tall magician looked down; his face was very severe. "You had better, or I will thrash you. Is that understood?"

Hope leaping in his throat, Nat pulled his cap and nodded.

* * *

Loki spent the rest of the day preparing for a stage show the following evening. With long, sensitive fingers he oiled gears and fiddled with tiny clockworks until his illusions were ready. Nat watched intently until the magician threw a spanner at him and shouted to take himself off.

Deciding the man might calm down if he had some food in his belly, Nat took his last few pence and bought a loaf of bread and a tumbler of ale. When he brought his spoils back to the room, the place was filled with butterflies all glowing with internal light and beautiful colours. Nat nearly dropped the ale in surprise. "Lovely!" the youth murmured. "'It is like a rainbow – I saw one once after sleeping all night under a barrow and it was almost worth the chill of slumbering in the ditch."

Loki seized the loaf, bit into it with white teeth, and followed it with a long swig of ale. Nat turned away, trying not to let the pain in his belly overcome him. At length the magician snorted and tossed the lad the loaf's heel. "Eat, if you have a mind to it. You'll get more done with a full stomach – and I have plenty of tasks in mind."

Nat chewed the rest of the bread ravenously. Once he was finished, Loki gave him set of faded silk robes to clean and press, more gears to oil, and a series of wooden boxes to polish and prepare.

By the time it was all finished, the boy curled up in a corner on the floor and fell asleep instantly.

* * *

The magic show was held in a shabby hall at the back of the town. Despite the cold weather and the small size of the place, Loki announced the tickets were sold out and the hall to be filled to capacity. "These backwaters are so boring, even my nonsense is seen as entertainment of the most dazzling degree," he declared. "No matter – the ladies all faint for a moment alone with the magician, and who am I to tell them no?" Loki grinned mischievously.

Nat shrugged. He supposed that meant he would have to find a different spot to sleep for the night - no matter. He had done it before when he was Natasha, and he could do it again.

Showtime arrived, and the place filled quickly. Nat watched from the shadow of the curtains and saw how, as Loki predicted, the female members of the audience clustered to the front seats and followed the magician's every move.

As Loki created a tableau of a horse galloping with eight legs the members of the audience clapped. They gasped when he had one woman sew his lips shut with a large needle, and one lady fainted. The next moment, of course, Loki was restored, showing his bright smile and spreading his arms wide to showcase his prowess. The audience stood and applauded, called for more, and was rewarded with a little trick where he stole a woman's blond hair, made it turn black, and restored her own colour in the end.

Nat moved the equipment the magician needed when it came time, handed over the props, kept everything moving smoothly. As well he had the ticket revenue in his pocket – Loki had told him to keep it safely or the magician admitted he would go and spend it on wine and women.

As soon as the show was complete, a bevy of females appeared backstage. Loki winked at Nat, selected two of the prettiest, and demanded a few shillings so they could all go for dinner. The boy, rightly interpreting he would not be welcome, handed over some money and slouched off to find more bread, a little ale, and a corner where he could sleep.

* * *

Rapidly Nat's new life became routine. There were more and more performances, each in a different part of England – usually in dingy, backwater towns. However, as Nat started to manage the funds and negotiate advertising, the 'Amazing Loki' became better known and was booked at larger theatres.

The magician commented on it as they sat inside the belly of an airship headed to Manchester for a performance near the cathedral. "You must be my good luck charm, boy," the magician stated.

Nat muttered a quick thanks and looked out of the window where snow had started to fall in large, lazy flakes even that high up in the air. "I know how to survive. It's as simple as that."

Loki huffed an amused snort. "I am certain you do – but never, in my entire life, did I see anything as dirty and bedraggled as the waif who first arrived in that foul inn."

The boy sniffed. He had learned to keep himself clean, and now that they had funds Loki insisted on getting them both new clothes. The magician still wore his long, green and black jacket – that, he declared, would never change.

"I just hope the women in Manchester are more interesting than in that last village," Loki yawned. "Perhaps a larger town means more beauty and confidence."

"Have you never thought of marriage? Of raising a family?"

Loki raised his eyebrows. "Hardly. What wife would put up with my travels and style of life? No, I fear I will be one of those philanderers to the end of my days." His eyes closed, and it seemed to be the end of that conversation.

* * *

In Manchester they picked up a young woman. Loki seemed very taken with her, and in the end Nat had to rent a separate room. In fact, they ended up staying longer there than they had in any town yet.

At night, once he had finished the accounts and cleaning the magical instruments, Nat lay in bed with his hands over his ears. He could hear the whispers and laughter from the room next door that eventually turned into rhythmic creaks and the final cries of release. It made him feel melancholy for some unknown reason. Perhaps he knew he would never be able to find solace, even for a few nights – after all no one knew what he was.

What  _she_  was.

* * *

"Get up. We are leaving." Loki tossed Nat's jacket into the boy's face and strode to the window.

"What?" Nat struggled to become fully awake. "Isn't it the middle of the night?"

"Exactly. Lorelei has become… tedious."

"I suppose that means she wanted more from you than a few nights in your bed," Nat snapped.

"Vicious when you are woken early, are you not? Come, boy. Get my things together." Loki marched out, and Nat made a rude gesture behind the man's back.

Once packed, the equipment was wheeled to the train station; there was no time to wait for the next airship, according to Loki. Nat paid for their tickets and procured a couple of buns as well as a cup of tea. They ate on a rickety bench, blowing on the hot liquid and warming their fingers on the shared cup.

"You are a strange one," Loki declared suddenly. "Your smooth skin makes you look like a mere child, yet you act old for your years – almost wise."

Nat couldn't help smirking with amusement. "How old do you think I am? Take a guess."

"Fifteen?" Loki smiled at the game.

"Try twenty. I am twenty come this Michaelmas." His lips twitched mischievously when Loki's mouth dropped open with surprise.

"Twenty! But you seem almost delicate…" A strange sort of confusion came over the magician's face. With a stifled oath he tossed the rest of his bun into a bin. "Just what, exactly, are you trying to play…"

Nat interrupted quickly; it seemed the conversation was skirting far too close to his own reality. "Here comes the train." He stood up and picked up both bags, but Loki pulled the larger bag away from him.

"When we arrive,  _lad,"_  he hissed, "you and I are going to have a long talk."

The train was nearly empty, thanks to the early hour and the gathering snow. Loki and Nat found an empty carriage, and the boy made certain the larger boxes were stowed away with a tip to the conductor.

When Nat returned, Loki's eyes were on him. "You do that well," the man said.

The boy felt a bolt of surprise. "It isn't very difficult."

"I suppose you picked it all up on your own since I never do anything besides rant, shout, and chase after women. Is that so?" Loki's nostrils flared as he bent closer.

"You also create some of the finest illusions I have ever seen," Nat countered.

Loki's hand shot out and seized Nat's wrist. "How long?" he hissed. "How long have you kept up your own illusion? Well? I believe you have a confession to make, do you not?"

* * *

Natasha stared into his eyes, uncertain of how to begin. At last she opened her mouth, but he gripped her wrist so tightly his knuckles were white. _ **"Tell me!"**_

At that she lost her temper. "What do you want me to say? That I dressed as a man because I didn't fancy the job of prostitute? Because I preferred not to be raped on a nightly basis – and impregnated, like as not? Life is difficult, at times impossible for women on the streets, in case you haven't thought it out. And do you know how difficult it is?" Her words tumbled out, having been locked inside for so long. "Do you know what it's like to hold your piss for hours so no one knows you have to squat? Not to mention the joys of the monthlies – I cannot begin to describe what fun that is."

They stared at each other for a long moment. The train began to slow down, and out of the blue Loki started to laugh. "Gods! Now I am trying to replay the past few months in my head, remembering if I compromised myself in anyway."

"Not to worry," Natasha rejoined in a cool tone. "Only every evening after each performance."

Still she refused to look away, even under his piercing gaze. The silence increased, and her cheeks turned pink. Hesitantly, Loki reached out to brush her hand with his, and at the slight touch she looked down to where his fingers gently intertwined with hers.

The door into their carriage opened with a bang, making both Natasha and Loki jump and spring apart. A bearded man stood, panting, in the doorway. "Be you the springcock who calls himself Loptr?"

Natasha sprang up, swaying slightly with the movement on the train. "Loki," she corrected. "His name is Loki. But what of it?"

"I am Lorelei's husband," the man continued, "and I am here for satisfaction."

She turned to Loki, who rolled his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat. "Oh, Lord. Mr. Lorelei, is it?" the magician groaned. "Must you really? How about a game of cards between fellows instead?"

"Cards? I think not. You insulted my wife, you gangling piece of twine!" The man spit on the floor at Loki's feet.

Loki produced a knife from some hidden crevice of his sleeves. "Spit on me, will? By God! You shall have your satisfaction, just as your wife had hers with me – again and again. Could you give it to her? For she told me you were unable…"

"Enough, Loki! Stop being an ass." Natasha got in between the two of them, fumbling for words. "I must admit, as I lay in the room next door to the two of them, the lady seemed more than willing. But that's beside the point…"

"Beside the point?  _Beside the point?"_  The outraged husband's eye fell on her. "And what are you, little popinjay? Do you receive the magician's wand when his lust takes him and no women around to part their legs? Are you by his side for when he needs a fancy-boy?"

Loki emitted a cry of rage and surged forward; the man did the same. Natasha, caught in the middle between them, felt a blow, a wrench, and hideously sharp pain in her shoulder. It hurt like the devil, searing her bones. As she clapped one hand to the knife still lodged there, a strange thought occurred to her – she didn't know if it belonged to the bearded man or to Loki himself.

* * *

" _Alas, my love, you do me wrong_

_To cast me off discourteously_

_When I have loved you well and long,_

_Delighting in your company..."_

Natasha sang as she wandered inside a walled garden filled with unknown plants and strange flowers she had never seen before. The light was different as well – golden, almost orange, with a glow that lit up her red curls. "Greensleeves was heart of gold, and who but my lady…"

"Shh." A man with long, black hair walked beside her in the garden, his face filled with concern. "Shh, love. Could you just rest for a while? For me?"

"But I have to remember how the song goes. It's dreadfully important. I don't know why – I only know it is."

He blinked rapidly several times as though he was trying to hold back his tears. "You must sleep, Nat. But that is not your name, is it?"

"Natasha," she told him. "My name is Natasha. _Your vows you've broken, like my heart; Oh why did you so enrapture me?"_

"Darling," he said desperately, "you have got to listen to me. Please try to sleep – it is the only way you will heal."

" _For I am still thy lover true, Come once again and love me,"_ she sang.

The man strode forward, seized her in his arms, and shouted. "Would you please shut up?" Before she could move, he kissed her suddenly.

His lips were soft, but firm – incredibly knowing. Natasha stopped singing at last and leaned into his arms. They were strong and held her up as she sagged against him and her eyes closed.

At that everything went black.

* * *

When Natasha opened her eyes again, she was in a small bed in a white room. The sheets were white as well, and the sleeping form of Loki lay there, his black hair spread out against the cotton. He sat in a metal chair by the bed, slumped forward on her mattress, and he held her hand in his.

Gently she disentangled her fingers. As she did his eyelashes fluttered and he sat up with a crooked smile. "Natasha!" he said.

She frowned. "How did you know my name?"

He shook his head. "Is it your name? I am not certain – I remember a garden, and a song…"

"Yes, that sounds familiar to me as well. There were flowers I never saw before, and…"

"Greensleeves," they said together.

Natasha shook her head with wonder. "Loki, did you meet me inside a dream? How can that be possible?"

"Well," he replied with a smirk, "I am a magician after all."

She laughed and nudged him. "You haven't changed, I see. Tell me, how long have I been here? Is this a hospital?"

"For several weeks – and, yes, it is a hospital."

"Several weeks!" Natasha thrust her feet out of the blankets. "We've got to get back on that train. You have performances to get to!"

"Forget all of that." Firmly he pushed her back onto the pillow. "The very first thing on my agenda is to make certain you are well."

* * *

The wound on her shoulder healed quickly. Natasha was young and healthy, and the knife blade never touched her lungs or any vital organ. "And what of the jealous husband?" she asked as they packed her back and prepared to leave the hospital.

"It was all a sham," Loki confessed. "I fell into their trap – apparently the young lady has done that to several unsuspecting males."

Natasha nodded. "I see. Well, what now? Time to go and try for some bookings?"

"We have a bit of cash left over. I thought instead we could go to the seaside for a quick holiday – we deserve it."

"You and me?" She stopped, shocked at the idea.

"Well, yes. Or have you developed a new moral code now your feminine status is public?" His eyes twinkled at her.

"Suppose I can't argue with that."

* * *

In the bottom of one trunk Loki found a dress a former assistant had used. "It is a bit flashy," he admitted, "but I cannot afford to buy you a proper wardrobe just yet."

Natasha held up the low-cut satin costume and giggled. "Wonder what our future landlady will say when she sees my silks and your cape? Still, no worries. I'll put on my jacket and no one will see the rest. Now, turn around – I'm going to change." Once in the tight dress, she whisked the rest of her old clothes into the trunk and put her hands on her hips. "I think that takes care of – Loki, what is the matter?"

He stood in the centre of the floor watching her in the dress with a thunderstruck expression, and when she spoke he jumped slightly. "Sorry! Nothing. Nothing is the matter."

* * *

He registered them as "Mr. and Mrs. Mischief" into a cold lodging house near the seaside. As Natasha had predicted, the landlady sniffed when they came in, but a few shillings in her palm took care of that.

Once everything was settled, Loki proposed a walk on the sands. "I do not know much about you," he declared as he strode next to her. "When did you decide to dress as a man?"

"After a cove on the street tried to back me into a corner. I put my knee into his banana and grapes and took off, but I knew eventually I'd be stuck with someone stronger and faster than me, with a brat to follow. Things would just go downhill from there. It was survival, you see."

He sucked in his breath and put one hand possessively on the small of her back. "That will never happen again," he vowed.

"And how about you? You're a bit of a mystery yourself, you know. Why did you become a magician?" Natasha asked. They had reached the sand by this time, and although the wind was cold, the sun warmed her cheeks.

"Actually, I wanted to become an engineer and build things. My father sent me to school, but of course I was expelled after a few months for consorting with the doorman's niece."

She dug her elbow in his side and winked. "Some things never change, eh?"

"Natasha." Loki stopped and took both of her hands in his. "I am so sorry you got caught up in that last bit of nonsense. I promise you I will never, ever do that again."

"Why make promises you can't keep?" Natasha turned away from him. "Once you meet another woman with long, golden hair, I will become a chain around your neck. Perhaps, Loki, it is best if you and I part while we are still happy – still friends. Yes, I think that is the cleverest thing we can do for each other."

"No! You do not understand. This is different."

"But isn't that what you always say? Each time - each woman - must feel different until it becomes routine, the same. You are too quick, too easily bored to commit yourself to anyone. I would hate to see that look in your eyes – the one I saw when you spoke of Lorelei in the middle of the night when you woke me. No, I'm going to be the one you can remember fondly when you grow old, as a friend who truly cared for you."

Loki reached for her again, but she evaded him and ran across the sands. Natasha thought she would go and find something for them to eat – she had a few coppers left in her jacket pocket. Once she felt stronger, she mused, she would find a new job and pay him back for her hospital stay, for the hotel, the clothes – everything. Freedom was a bright image, shining in front of her. It would involve plenty of hard work and degradation, of that she was certain, but she wasn't afraid of that.

No, what she feared was to see boredom in Loki's eyes when he looked at her, to hear him make love to another woman in the room next to hers again. She had survived the streets by becoming a boy, and she lived through having a knife lodge in her shoulder, but she couldn't cope with losing him if it wasn't on her terms.

She managed to buy two crusty rolls filled with ham and cheese as well as a pint of ale. It was hardly a feast, but it would fill their stomachs until the next day if they were frugal. Since there was nowhere else to eat, Natasha spread a napkin on the bed and laid out the food, taking care not to spill anything and make certain all was neat and appetizing.

Busy on her task, she realized only too late that Loki stood close behind her in the tiny room. One long arm encircled her waist, his hand caught the back of her head, and before she knew it she was being ruthlessly kissed, his lips moving over hers, his tongue plundering her mouth. After a moment she was able to free herself and gasp, "What are you doing?"

Loki grinned. "I thought it was obvious – kissing you."

"But why?"

"Because I wanted to." He ran one hand through his black hair. "Listen to me. I have been thinking ever since you were in the hospital. I spent my days there by your bed doing nothing but holding your hand in mine, you know, and it never became tedious, not once. This magician business – I am through with it. I have decided to become an engineer after all."

"What did you say?" Natasha spread her hands against his chest. "Are you certain?"

"Yes." His gaze was very direct, unwavering. "It will mean a great deal of difficulty and little money, but I am not worried about that – why are you laughing?"

"I was just thinking the same thing," she gurgled. "I had planned to find a new job, to start again on my own."

He smiled. "You must indeed have a new job, as my wife. I cannot go through life without you – I have never met anyone like you before, Natasha. Darling, will you marry me?" A thought seemed to strike him, and he got down on one knee. "Sorry, I forgot," he apologized. "Romance was never my specialty. Oh, and – here."

Natasha took the tiny box in his hand and peered at it. "Is this a trick?" she giggled.

"Of course it is. It is still me, after all. And could you give me your answer? This floor is very hard."

"I suppose I'll let you out of your misery…" The instant the words left her lips, Loki sprang up and captured her in another fierce kiss.

"Your skin! It's like milk, and so soft. Please let me kiss you here… and here…" His teeth grazed her neck, devoured her chin, her earlobes. "Darling, we will have nothing for a long time. I wish I could give you a large house and lots of dresses. But one day, perhaps."

"I don't need a large place to live. At this moment, a tiny room in a chilly boarding house is enough for me." She gazed up at him, knowing everything was about to change. Perhaps for the better, perhaps for the worse – but wasn't that the same for everyone who fell in love?

Very gently he cupped her chin and kissed her. "Let us eat this delicious meal which you have brought, if nothing more than to free up the bed."

"Oh."

"Exactly."

* * *

Although she had lost her appetite, Loki coaxed her to eat more and more so she would grow stronger. The ale went to her head and made everything seem very funny, so once the sun went down and they were left in the dark, she was clutching onto him in a fit of the giggles. "Just think of all the things you said to me when you thought I was a boy!" she laughed.

"You made a terrible boy. The way you crossed your legs, your hand movements… they all gave you away."

"Nonsense. You never suspected a thing, you fraud." By this point they were lying, face to face, on the pillows.

Loki claimed her hand and brought it to his lips. "I did, but I did not think long enough about it. I can be a complete idiot at times, darling."

"You can indeed – I suppose I will have to stick around to make certain you don't leap off a roof by accident."

"Come here." He gathered her into his arms and sighed. "I cannot do without you – if only I could make you see how much I need you! Yes, you organize my life and make me comfortable, but it goes far deeper than that. I feel like I know you already, as though we had been together for years - centuries."

"I feel the same way." She held his face between her hands and kissed him deeply. At once he responded, sliding his hands up her back, undoing the buttons of her gown.

"We will go slowly, little one. It is your first time, am I right? And I am the luckiest man in the world to be the one." He slid the gaudy silk dress off her shoulders, cupped one breast, bit her neck.

"I do know how to undo a pair of trousers, at any rate," she laughed. "Allow me to help you with yours."

"You are shameless. For that I will … oh, darling, it is ecstatic when you touch me down there… Natasha!"

In her eagerness she found his stiff member and slid her fist over his length. "Mmmm," she moaned into his mouth. "I  _am_ shameless. I heard you with her through the wall and I wanted to be the one in your bed."

Loki tumbled her onto the pillows and, breathless with passion, spoke right against her ear. "And now you are – it is you, and will always be you. Let me seduce you, my child. Let me touch you here, ooh that feels nice, doesn't it, and lick you here and here, your breasts are trembling and taste so delicious."

"And let me lick you as well," she countered, kissing his chest, right down to the flat planes of his stomach.

"This is true magic!" he gasped. "You are so wet already, do you feel that? Do you mind if I slip inside you?"

"Loki, I will lose my mind if you do  _not_ ," Natasha panted. "Oh! Is it meant to be that big? It makes me tremble in the strangest way, I never felt anything like that before."

"Darling. Let me make love to you. I want to do this for the rest of our lives together." Agonizingly slow he slid out of her, entered her again.

"That feels incredible. It is magic. The best magic you have ever done. My own magician. You are going to – oh, what is happening?" In the middle of her first release, Natasha whimpered and shook under him, clasping Loki to her body as tightly as she could.

He bucked and reared into his own spending orgasm, pouring his seed inside her in a hot rush. "You are mine!" he cried.

"And you are mine," she whispered. Natasha felt as though her body was electric, as though she had been made to disappear in one of Loki's illusions, and reappear as something new and beautiful – a completely different person. A boy no longer - a female again.

A woman in love.

* * *

Later they drank the rest of the ale. By the light of a box of matches, Natasha discovered the trick of the little box and took out the silver ring. Loki kissed her fingers and made love to her again, holding her against the wall, on top of him, bent over the mattress. She writhed with each thrust, making him exclaim, "Gods, you are a spitfire! I never knew – you seemed so calm, so sedate before. Darling, marry me."

"I will, Loki. I will marry you…" A chill overtook her as she spoke those words. Somewhere she had said them before.

"Oh, no," he whispered, also struck with the truth. "I was really looking forward to this life. It would have been a simple one – you and I in a little cottage, perhaps with a few children…"

"Loki." Natasha's eyes filled with tears. "Why did you do it? Why did you give me the juice from the apples? We wouldn't have to go through all these painful separations…"

"It was just so tempting. When I found them I had to try and keep you forever."

She stared up into his face, cursing herself for loving him so much. "You know, I'm still pretty pissed at you."

"Yes, I know. I believe you described it as 'mad as fuck' in the last life."

Natasha couldn't help giggling. "We are going to have a long, loud fight when we return to Asgard. And then …"

"Long, loud sex?" Loki asked hopefully.

She sighed and held out her hand. "Give me the damn square so we can get back there and find out."


	10. Doctor Romanova – New England, 1954

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE - I got my Mad Men on in this AU where Natasha is Loki's professor.

 

**The Eighth Piece**

* * *

" _I know you think about the students and rut with them in the halls."_

The campus was old, with spreading oaks over the brick walkways. Natasha walked towards the lecture hall, eyeing coeds in saddle shoes and long skirts with some envy. Her own heels tapped against the worn stones, and the slim skirt of her suit made moving difficult. She tried to forget the anonymous note she had received that morning and the others shoved in her mailbox ever since she had started the job; each was filthier, nastier than the last.

Being a female professor in the eminent university was difficult; there were so many unwritten rules she had to adhere to. Although she had her PhD, Natasha was forced to adopt the title of Professor so the male lecturers wouldn't feel put out by her higher academic status. She also had to dress as conservatively as possible, but even though she wore boxy jackets and longer hemlines Natasha still had to deal with flirtations from both her students and from her colleagues. She could handle it; Natasha knew it would be that way.

However, she hadn't bargained on the anonymous letters.

Still, it was worth it. Teaching Norse Studies in a college had been her lifelong dream. As she entered the classroom and prepared her papers for the day's lecture, she allowed herself one quick smile of satisfaction before starting in on the topic at hand.

The students were clumped in little groups, chatting about dates from the previous night and parties coming up on the weekend. Natasha ran her eyes around the classroom and nearly jumped as she encountered a steady, green gaze – a new student must have come into the class. He sat apart from the gossip and chatter, a long-legged, dark-haired youth whose lips spread in a mischievous smile as his gaze held hers.

"Professor Romanova, are we talking about Sleipnir's birth today?" one student asked, earning a few chuckles from the rest of the class.

"Actually, yes." Natasha prepped herself to talk about her favourite part of Norse studies, the reason she got into the field in the first place. "I plan to look at the strange fate of Loptr or Loki, the god of lies, and just how important he is in the mythology. In fact, I propose that without him, there would have been no poetic nor prose Edda, and Valhalla would have been a rather boring, gloomy place…"

Natasha continued the lecture, refusing to skip the racier portions of the subject. Mythology had been overly watered down, she argued, and it was time to confront all aspects of the tales. "After all, we are talking about a race who forbade the writing of love poetry. Warfare was the dearest thing to the Vikings' hearts, and as modern readers we must understand that. I believe this concept helps us to understand Loki's character – maybe he represented the darker side of that lifestyle as well as the hidden shame the boatmen and warriors confronted each day."

The class grew quiet as the students took notes and Natasha went through her list of points, elaborating on each, presenting detailed research and her own conclusions. "I think we must conclude," she added, " that Loki was an extremely important figure. He brought on Ragnorak – the twilight of the gods – and perhaps was born for that function. In a way, his fate was inescapable."

Among the sound of pencils scratching in blue books, the new student raised his hand. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked. "Loki, who is the god of mischief as well as lies, was really frosted bad news, a total fake out. He'd tear ass but end stacking up."

Natasha regarded him for a moment with a cool glance. She knew the green-eyed young man was trying to set her off by using overly hip slang, and she decided to retaliate. "You are right," she replied smoothly. "He wouldn't fit with the cubes, he was too subterranean for that. But to call him a total shuckster – that's close. I truly believe there are some redeeming qualities, and as we can see in the prose Edda often it was Loki's courage…"

Somewhere a bell rang, interrupting her and ending the session. "Character essays are due next class," Natasha reminded the students before dismissing them. As they filed out, she put out a hand to stop the new student.

"May I have a moment?" she requested.

He grinned. "You've got jets, Professor. I didn't expect you to understand my lingo."

"Why are you in my class?" She ignored his comment. "I'm already several lectures into the subject, and it's too late to add you in. You don't appear on my roll…"

"Ooh, not on the roll. What would Loki say?" His smile widened as he fished in his pocket and brought out a letter signed by the registrar. "Here's my train ticket."

Natasha twitched it out of his fingers, looked at the document for a moment, and handed it back to him. "I don't care what it says. You have missed an incredible amount of information…"

"I prefer Snorri Sturlson's work, although the Poetic Edda gives fascinating snippets of information, almost like little clues to hidden mysteries," he interrupted. "'Þriár r **o** tr standa a þria vega vndan asci Y _gg_ drasils: Hel býr vnd ei _nn_ i, a _nn_ a _rr_ ih _ri_ mþvrsar, þriðio m _enn_ zk _ir_ m _enn_.' I mean, that's powerful stuff – so much stronger in Icelandic. Don't you think, Professor?"

Clearing her throat, Natasha tried to gather her thoughts. The young man in front of her wore jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket. His black hair was combed back but hung too long down his neck – he looked like the classic definition of a greaser. Yet he had quoted one of her favourite passages and with beautiful inflection – who the hell was he? "I don't even know your name," she said.

"You're not going to believe it when I show you." His gaze was direct, never leaving hers.

She folded her arms across her chest. "Try me."

"Okay." Digging in his pocket, he flicked open a thick, kidskin wallet and held up his license. There was his picture, and next to the headshot was the name: Loki Odinson.

* * *

That evening she had a party to attend at the college president's mansion right on the campus. Natasha dug out a dress from her tiny closet, tried it on, and sighed. Like everything she wore, the top emphasized her figure. She adjusted her wrap to cover her chest, picked up her purse, and went down the stairs of the tiny apartment as the door buzzed.

Waiting below for her was Phil, her office mate. When the small man had originally approached her to share the workspace she had stiffened, but after she met his lover and realized she was perfectly safe in his presence, he had become a dear friend. "That dress is tragic," he announced as he handed her into the passenger seat.

"Don't I know it?" Natasha groaned. "Our salaries are barely enough to live on."

"Tell me. I plan on eating both dinner and lunch tonight." Phil winked at her; professors were perennially hungry.

Indeed, when they arrived the food was plentiful if not wonderful. With Phil at her side, Natasha ate a few meatballs cooked in jelly and wished for the twentieth time she could go to Scandinavia for true smorgarsbord complete with aquavit, caviar, vodka, and lingonberry jelly.

As she turned from the table, Phil had disappeared; in his place was Bart, the department head. His wife, a tall woman with long, dark hair, hovered nearby with a vengeful stare.

She stifled a sigh and tried to move away, but the large man caught her elbow. "Why, doll, I didn't expect to see you so dressed up." Bart allowed his gaze to roam her figure, taking in every inch of her get up.

"It is a party, after all. Now if you will excuse me…"

He interrupted. "Let me get you a drink. Bar keep! Two Rob Roys, and make them strong." With a blasting laugh that smelled of onions in her face, Bart leaned closer.

"I actually only drink vodka…"

The man ignored her. "What say we go check out where the coats are kept in the back bedroom? I have a French letter there. Want to see?" He added a broad wink, and Natasha realized just how drunk he was.

"Your wife is right behind you," she retorted.

"That cold fish has no idea what I'm doing. She thinks I've been faithful to her since day one." He lowered his head and added, "Besides, I would advise you to meet me there if you want to keep your job."

Natasha considered him for a moment. She would have to play it cool and hope he was well on his way to drunkenness. "Sure," she finally agreed. "Go ahead, and I'll see you in a few minutes."

Clumsily he kissed her cheek, pawed one breast and headed away. Exhaling with relief, Natasha found Phil and told him she was leaving early to walk home. "Seriously, you stay and enjoy. I'll be fine."

"Are you certain?" Phil seemed to be enjoying the limp buffet selections. "I'll check in on you tomorrow to make sure you arrived home safe and sound."

"Thanks." Natasha kissed her officemate's cheek and moved out of the door, happy to escape before the department head tried to corner her in a back bedroom. Obviously the man he had a few Rob Roys under his belt already; usually he was flirtatious but not outrageously brazen. She could only hope he would keep up his drink intake and forget all about it the next day.

The walk home would be long; however, she could make it. Her apartment was close enough to campus where she would get there with sore feet but in time to go to bed early, read a book for an hour or so. The moths flittered under the streetlights, and overhead a thumbnail crescent moon hid like a shy maiden behind a drift of clouds. There was little traffic, and Natasha felt a sense of peace steal over here.  _If I were in Asgard,_ she thought, _I could saddle a horse and ride off to the forest, discover adventure and perhaps a fight a dragon or two…_

At that, her thoughts were violently interrupted. The drunk department head came up behind her, gripped her shoulder, slapped her face, and dragged her hair back with one fist. "Little slut whore!" Bart hissed. "Think you can walk out on me?"

She knew she only had one second to react. Natasha steadied herself, raised her knee between his legs and got him square in the groin. When he fell with one groaning curse, she whirled and ran as though the devil were after her, breath coming in burning spurts. Behind her she heard heavy thuds of the man's wingtips on the pavement, chasing after her.

Natasha dashed up to a street corner. A motorcycle sat in the crossroads with a tall, slender rider, idling at a red light. Without thinking she ran up, jumped on the bike behind him, and whispered, "Someone's after me. Please get me out of here – now."

The bike instantly revved up and shot onto the street, straight through the traffic signal. She wound her arms around the rider's waist and shouted, "I'm so sorry! He tried to attack me…"

The only response was a roar as he gunned the engine. They zoomed down the road, leaving the campus, college town, and eventually the streetlights behind.

At the edge of a field, the bike stopped. Natasha scrambled off and fell into the soft grass by the road; her legs were too weak to hold her up any longer. Static roared in her ears, and she saw blinking lights at the edge of her vision.

One large, strong hand pushed her head down. "You won't faint if you keep the blood going to your brain – no, stay down."

She gulped and, after a moment, realized she would be all right. Cautiously she looked up into the dark figure; already she recognized his voice. "Loki," she said. "Oh, my God. I am so sorry."

"Professor." Natasha could hear the grin in his voice. "I'm afraid you've ripped your dress."

She looked down; one long strip hung from the bodice, revealing her slip and brassiere. Natasha swore and looked around as if she could find a pin or sewing kit in the woods. Probably she was experiencing mild shock.

"Listen." Loki stripped off his shirt and handed it to her. Although he was slender, his arm muscles rippled as he helped her to put it on. "My family owns a lake house surprisingly close by. No one is there and my cousin has some extra clothes – would you like to go and change? Get washed up?"

Shakily Natasha climbed to her feet and put on his shirt over her ruined dress. "What happened to your hep slang?" she asked. "You can actually speak like a human."

He laughed. "That was a sort of test, I suppose."

"And how did I do?"

His green eyes gleamed. "Very well. Now, shall we go to the house? I can offer you a drink there as well, if you like."

She considered. Her job was as good as over in any case; she might as well go and change instead of reentering town on the back of a bike with her undergarments on view for all the gossips to digest over coffee klatches. "All right," she agreed. "But I'll need to make a phone call later on."

* * *

The house was large and luxurious. Loki opened the door and apologized for the lack of lights, but as soon as he switched on the main the house was bathed in a soft, subtle glow from hidden wall sconces. Natasha couldn't help exclaiming as she looked out of the huge windows onto the dark lake fringed with woods; the view had to be incredible when the sun rose.

He plunged down a short corridor and returned with a pair of jeans and a classic white shirt. "You should probably fit these. Sorry they aren't fancy, but …"

"These are perfect. I can't thank you enough."

"You can get changed in my cousin's room. Meanwhile I'll pour you a drink, but I warn you, I want to hear the entire story when you return." He raised one eyebrow and disappeared, leaving her in a small, snug bedroom. Natasha changed quickly and ran a comb through her hair, which had come out of its smooth chignon; sighing, she let it tumble over her shoulders. Luckily the pants fit perfectly, although she had to turn up the bottoms as well as the cuffs of the white shirt.

"The phone is in here," Loki called from the kitchen. He bent over the counter, intent on cutting up something and fetching glasses. Natasha nodded and dialed Phil to let her officemate know she was staying with a friend and would see him on Monday.

"A friend?" Loki gave her a sidelong glance.

"I could hardly say student – I've already been compromised enough this evening." She gasped when she saw what he was doing. "Are those gravlax?"

"In cream and vinegar." Depositing a few more dishes on the tray, he picked it up and jerked his head for her to follow. "I thought we could sit on the porch – it's screened in so we won't get eaten alive."

Natasha followed him. She felt she was in a weird dream – ever since Bart had slapped her, she seemed to have slipped into some kind of alternate reality.

Outside the air was slightly cool, carrying the scent of pines and smoke. Loki put the tray on a low table, pulled out a chair for her. He poured two glasses of iced vodka and handed one to her. Natasha clinked his glass with hers and couldn't help swallowing the liquid quickly – it had been one hell of a night, and at that moment the vodka, perfectly iced, was exactly what she needed. "The house is lovely," she said, accepting a plate of herring and caviar. "And this is perfect – I was at a party earlier and the food was almost depressing. I couldn't help thinking of smorgasbord and lingonberries."

"You're not going to distract me, you know," Loki insisted. "I want to know exactly what happened to you."

"Of course." Natasha swallowed, cleared her throat, took another sip of vodka. "The truth is my department head tried to seduce me at a party this evening. I ran out on him and hoped to go home quietly on my own, but he followed me out and – well."

"And what?" Loki sat forward, lacing his hands between his widespread knees. His eyes were unblinking, trained on her face.

"The truth is he slapped me." Natasha took another swig of her drink and heard the hiss of his breath. All of a sudden she lost her temper. "I wanted nothing more than to go to bed and read my book, and instead he blundered up to me like a rhino in heat. And now I'll probably lose my job, which I worked my tail end off to get in the first place, and I won't be rehired, and I'll have to sell gloves or perfume in a retail store. The hell with him!" Something made her keep quiet about the anonymous notes – they were like a dirty little secret.

"Ah –  _there's_  the fire. I knew you had it hidden inside you somewhere under all that sedate politeness and intelligence." Loki set down his glass. "You will not lose your job. If I know that particular professor, he will do anything to avoid a scandal."

"Perhaps you're right, but he can make my life…" Natasha stopped. "Sorry. The last thing I should do is complain to one of my students. It's terribly unprofessional."

"He will not make your life a living hell. That's what you were going to say, wasn't it? Here, try the skyr – it's delicious with the lingonberries."

She did, and it was. Chased with vodka, the soft cheese was ambrosial. Natasha leaned back, stretched out her legs, and sighed. "I can't imagine why you stopped when I asked you at that red light. You must have thought I was a lunatic."

"No, I only knew you were in trouble and needed someone."

* * *

Much later after another round of Porramatur, drinks, and the most interesting conversation she had ever experienced, Loki showed her to the small bedroom. "You should be comfortable in here, but if you need anything I'm right next door."

"Thanks." Perhaps it was due to the vodka, but Natasha stood on tiptoe and pressed her cheek to his for a brief moment. "Sleep well – and dream softly."

She closed the door on his surprised face and found a pair of pajamas already laid out. After brushing her teeth in the tiny bathroom, she snuggled into the sheets, crisp cotton blazoned with tiny acorns, and fell asleep at once.

In her sleep, she wandered through long corridors filled with a golden light. Loki was there as well, dressed in complicated armor and a strange helmet. She took his arm and stalked through the rooms at his side, looking for something. "It has to be here," he kept saying. "We must find it."

"We will," she promised. "We will."

* * *

In the morning she emerged to the smell of coffee and fresh pancakes. Loki grinned when she greeted him; his hair was wet against his collar, and he looked as though he had just shaved. "I can take you back after breakfast," he offered. "However, I thought it might be better if we returned this evening after dark – easier for you to slip back to your apartment that way. We could take a hike around the lake today, if you like."

"I don't want to trouble you…" Natasha started, but he shook his head.

"It's no trouble. I only have to finish my character essay for a very demanding professor." He winked at her and handed over a steaming mug and a plate of pancakes.

They ate on the porch again, looking over the water. The air was still cool but with the promise of a golden autumn day. After breakfast, Loki found her a pair of boots to wear, and they headed out to the water. "This is beautiful," Natasha sighed. "It really is my favourite season."

"Mine as well." Loki handed her over a series of stepping-stones to cross a small feeder stream. "Have you ever visited Scandinavia?"

"Sadly, no. I was hard put to finish school as it was – I had to juggle three jobs and classes as well as writing my thesis. Still, one day I'll get there."

"Hm. You seem very determined," he commented.

"And you seem to be a total anomaly," she retorted. "You showed up late in my class spouting hipster slang and riding a motorcycle, yet you can recite the Edda in the original Norse and make pancakes. I pride myself on my abilities of analysis, but I can't quite pin you down."

"Maybe not everything can be catalogued – or should be. Maybe some things simply are what they are," he argued.

"I agree, but still there are basic personality traits…"

"People are like onions; isn't that what Kirkegaard claimed? You dig and find layers under layers. Or, more properly – other minds are like universes with unknown systems and planets just waiting to be discovered."

Natasha nodded. She liked his undergrad fervour, his obvious thirst for knowledge and higher thought. "I prefer the universe theory – an onion would imply similarity throughout, but some people seem to be one thing and are quite the opposite."

"Exactly." He grinned at her, and the breeze moved the shadows of the leaves overhead so his face was framed by early light.

She realized with a shock he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

* * *

" _You little bitch. I know what you did."_

As Loki predicted, Natasha did not lose her job. Bart kept a wary eye on her but left her alone, and after a few weeks she began to relax – until the anonymous notes started up again.

She began to realize just how popular Loki was on campus. Whenever she saw him he was surrounded by groups of coeds, all hanging on his every word. In her class there was always a female sitting on his desk, giggling and smiling at him when Natasha walked in to give her lecture. It was just as well, she told herself – yes, it was better to have that space, that boundary between them.

After they returned from the lake on his bike, she sent a quick thank-you note to his dorm. It was written on generic stationary and signed with her initials; she didn't want either of them to get into trouble. Still, she also refused to let his kind gesture go unnoticed.

That day she got one of the unsigned letters. They arrived every week, always short, always threatening in tone, always describing her as a cat in heat who couldn't control her urges.

The students turned in their character essays, and Natasha graded them, unconsciously shifting Loki's to the bottom of the pile like a reward for finishing the others. There were mediocre reports, most copied from research material and parroted back with no analysis, no thought. One young girl wrote a well-thought out paper about Thor – Natasha gave her a B+ along with a list of ideas for further research.

Surprisingly Loki didn't write about his namesake, as Natasha had expected; instead, his essay was on Frigga and her calming influence on Odin and all of Asgard. His theory was clearly stated and meticulously crafted; his research was faultless. Moreover, he seemed to talk about the goddess with real fervor and understanding, and at times Natasha found tears in her eyes at the words he used. She sighed, the red pen hovering over the margin, before she gave him an A. Instead of writing a long list of the usual accolades, she put in a Norse tag of praise – a simple little line that would perhaps make him smile.

At that she realized she was taking things too personally. Looking at her tiny watch, she saw it was already after midnight. Natasha got undressed, climbed into bed, and read a chapter before turning off the light. In the darkness, the silence of her empty life seemed to wait like a dark giant, ready to carry her off when she slept.  _And was the one writing the anonymous letters out there as well?_  She blew out a breath of disgust at herself and rolled over, determined to fall asleep.

* * *

Walking to class, Natasha was struck by the sight of a couple on a bench. The young lady sat on the lap of a male student, kissing him deeply and running her hands through his black hair. He had his legs splayed wide, and his arms rested on the back of the park bench, not responding, simply allowing the embrace.

Natasha slowed as she realized who was underneath the girl. She was on the way to his class, ready to hand back the paper with the little Norse tag. Suddenly she felt foolish: an older professor flirting with an undergrad by quoting Viking verse to him. It was ridiculous.

She hurried into the class, removed the neat bundle of themes, and found Loki's paper. Quickly she struck a line through the tag and scribbled on it so no one would be able to read the quote. Instead she wrote, "Well done. Excellent sourcing and exposition."

The class filed in. As usual, a group of girls hovered around Loki's seat. Natasha refused to look at him, concentrating instead on Jane, the girl who had written the B+ paper. As she lectured about Merkstave runes and Freya Aett, she kept a stream of humour as well as small anecdotes to illustrate her points. Several times she made the class laugh; at least that was something.

Before the session ended, Natasha handed back the papers. It was a point of pride to return assignments the next class after collecting them – she thought if she made the students work, she should strive just as hard. Still, she had to admit they probably didn't notice the effort. As soon as the bell tower sounded, indicating the end of class, Natasha picked up her briefcase and left.

* * *

Phil was in their office listening to a young man complain about his grade. Once the student left, her officemate rolled his eyes at Natasha. "Did you hear that pimply youth? As though I can help it when he never turns in assignments on time!"

She chuckled and nodded. "I know. I just handed back a set of themes, so I'm certain I have a few just like him coming in for office hours."

"Best of luck. I have to head to class. Want to come to dinner tonight with me and Clint? Nothing fancy, just a pot of spaghetti."

"Spaghetti sounds perfect. I'll bring the Chianti." Natasha liked Clint, Phil's lover; he was kind and tended to fuss over her when she visited.

Once he left she opened a book to check a few points for her next lecture. The book absorbed her, and with a shock she realized Loki had materialized in her chair.

"What did you write on my theme?" He thrust it forward and pointed to the tag she had scribbled out.

"Hello," Natasha said pointedly. His only response was a scowl. "It was a Norse tag," she admitted.

"And why did you strike it out?" His dark brows twitched together. "I wanted to read it."

"Is that the only reason you're here?" Natasha beckoned for the paper, and he placed it in her fingers. "It was really well-written, by the way – probably this was one of the cleverest essays I ever received for this assignment." Quickly she scribbled in the Norse tag and handed it back to him.

As he read it aloud his eyes widened. "He falls not whom true friends help forward on his way." Carefully he tucked the paper into his notebook and leaned back in the chair. "You know, I graduate in December," he said casually.

Natasha looked up. "Oh? Why then and not the spring?"

"I – misbehaved in my sophomore year, was chucked out and allowed back after a few semesters. Actually I'm far behind."

"I see." She tapped her pen on the desk. "Forgive me – why are you telling me this?"

"When I graduate, there's going to be a party at the lake house. Will you come?"

She felt a recoil, a small shock of surprise. "Me? Aren't you – won't you take…"  _…that girl I just saw crawling all over you,_  she wanted to add, but she realized it would reveal a part of herself she didn't even want to acknowledge. "Won't you bring your girlfriend? Taking your Norse studies professor seems a bit off."

He stared at her, a smile spreading across his features. "Ah.  _That's_ why you scratched it out." Loki leaned forward and placed one hand on her wrist. "What are you doing over Christmas – staying here in your tiny apartment? Come for the party and stay at the lake with my family for the party and the holidays. I can promise good food and a lot of laughter."

* * *

She had to admit that somehow Loki had guessed her sensitive point, reached her most vulnerable area. The holidays were always a difficult time; as an orphan she had no one to visit, no gifts to purchase beyond a tie for Phil and a box of hankies for Clint in a local department store. Once she added a potted plant for the department secretary, Natasha was finished with shopping.

However, before she left a green scarf caught her eye. Cursing herself, she added it and a large tin of chocolates to her purchases. It would leave her short for the month, but for once Christmas shopping had actually been enjoyable.

* * *

At the last moment she decided to stay home instead of going to the lake with Loki. Arriving at the house of a former student made her too uneasy. Yes, uneasiness – that was the emotion she was feeling. She collected her mail from the tray in the hall and went upstairs to dump her purchases on the table. There was a Christmas card from her bank, a letter from the Provost wishing her a Joyous Yule Season, and a small envelope sealed with real wax.

Without removing her coat, Natasha broke the seal, fearing the arrival of another anonymous note. Instead, inside was a paper with detailed instructions of how to reach the lake house; on the bottom Loki had scribbled the words, "Stop feeling nervous and come here. I want to talk to you some more. Don't forget to pack a bag."

It was starting to look as though her star student had a severe case of second sight. Natasha closed her eyes, rotated her neck on her shoulders, and went to her closet for extra clothes.

* * *

Once she delivered her gifts to Phil, Clint, and the secretary, Natasha took the last of her cash and caught the bus to the lake house. When she arrived she would have a long walk, but she might make it in time for dinner.

Snow started to fall as she descended the bus steps, and it moved away, hissing like a metal dragon. Natasha tilted her head back, caught a few flakes on her tongue, and dug her hands in her pockets; her eyes sparkled as she watched the white build up in the trees. There were few things she enjoyed more than walking in the snow. However, by the time she made it to the lake house her toes were numb. She rang the bell and stamped her feet, hoping there would be some hot coffee going inside.

The door was opened by one of the most beautiful girls she had ever seen. Feeling her stomach sink, Natasha gaped for a moment. "May I help you?" the girl asked, polite curiosity in her star-like eyes.

"I – uh…" She remembered the tin of chocolates and held it out. "These are for the Odinsons. Could you please give them the gift? Thanks." Without waiting to hear what the girl said Natasha trudged off in the snow, cursing herself. To come all that way! To have fallen for a few ridiculous invitations from a student who had admitted to being kicked out of school at one point! And what the hell was she going to do now? She had no money for a bus, and even if she did there wouldn't be another for hours. The road was deserted, and she was freezing.

Tears of rage slid down her cheeks, and she wiped them with the backs of her hands. She was just about to stop and have a good howl in the privacy of the woods when she heard her name being called.

"Natasha!" Loki ran up, caught her hand, and spun her around. "Why did you leave? What are you – hey, what's the matter?"

She threw down her bag and slugged him in his shoulder. "You might have mentioned your girlfriend would be here before I took a bus all the way out here! It would have saved me from looking like an idiot! Ugh, I can't believe I fell for it. What was I thinking?"

His face changed from outraged surprise, to sudden comprehension, to amusement. "Are you talking about Sif?" he grinned. "Tall, dark-haired drink of water? That's my cousin. You borrowed her clothes before."

It was Natasha's turn to be surprised. She felt her mouth drop open. "That was your …? Ohhhh, boy." Heat pooled on her cheeks; she knew she was blushing.

Loki stepped very close, cupped her chin in one hand, and tilted her face up to his. He brushed his lips on hers in a gentle kiss before exclaiming, "You are freezing. Come on, let's go inside." Firmly he slipped one arm around her shoulders and guided her to the house through the snow.

* * *

Inside, there were several students from the university. Jane, the B student from her Norse Studies class, cried out when Natasha was shown into the room and surged forward to drag her onto a seat. "This is the professor I was talking about!" she said to a tall, muscular, blond youth next to her.

"The Norse lady?" He grinned and held out a massive hand that swamped Natasha's fingers in a handshake. "I'm Thorne – nice to meet you."

"You are the most unbelievable teacher." Jane was still busy being enthusiastic. "Funny, interesting, well-prepared – and you always get the grades in early."

Loki came in to sit on the arm of Natasha's chair. "Have you ever taken a class with the department head?" he asked the group.

"Ugh, the worst. He reads from the book in a monotone voice, delights in putting down all females, and I think he grades in the dark." Jane rolled her eyes.

"That's status quo for most colleges, you know," Natasha offered, taking a sip from the glass Loki handed her. The room was deliciously warm, and she felt as though she was thawing after a long, black, frost.

"Exactly." Jane nodded. "That's why you are my favourite professor."

"Mine too," Loki murmured.

* * *

There was table tennis in the downstairs room. Natasha protested she had never played, so Loki gave her a few lessons, holding her arm to show her how to swing the paddle. "I understand," she insisted.

"Are you certain? I rather enjoy being your teacher for a change. All right – let's play a game." Loki smacked the ball straight at her, and she returned it with a spin that shot off the table before he could get it.

There was an Oooh from the others. He picked up the ball, grinning. "Are you a ringer? I should have known. Maybe we should have made this more interesting…"

She played sporadically but well, and he won the first game. After that Thorne played him, and Sif played the blond giant. Jane dug out snacks, more drinks, and a large tray of desserts.

Helping her hand them out, Natasha realized she felt utterly relaxed - perhaps for the first time in her life.

* * *

The following afternoon Jane and Thorne headed out to see their own families. Natasha exchanged hugs and promised to meet the girl for lunch in the New Year.

"I'm going for a hike," Sif announced. "Want to come along?"

"No, we're going to start work on dinner." Loki interrupted Natasha before she could answer Yes; Sif, looking amused, nodded and headed out wrapped in a huge fleece jacket.

"You  _are_  going to stay here for Christmas, aren't you?" he added.

"I really don't…"

"Look." Loki took Natasha's hands, towed her over to a bar stool and sat next to her. "Before you start in with the excuses and proper etiquette, you may as well know you're going to be my girl. So that's that. I want you to meet my parents, I want you to be here for the holidays, and I want to see you as much as possible when your semester begins again."

She pressed her hands to her cheeks, certain she had never blushed so much in her life before she met him. "This is crazy. You are my student, and it would be highly unethical for me to date you. Yes, I know you're going to point out that you just graduated, but I still need to consider…"

"I think you need to stop lecturing. This is not a classroom." Loki stood, tilted her head up, and kissed her again. His lips were soft yet demanding, inescapable. She couldn't help kissing him back, allowing her mouth to open when he nudged it with his tongue, deepening the embrace.

Loki purred in his throat, murmured against her neck – he seemed completely relaxed. "You  _are_ going to be my girl," he repeated in her ear. "Aren't you?"

Was it really a question? Natasha squeezed her eyes shut, whispered Yes.

"Ahhhh." He pulled her out of her seat to stand pressed against him. His relaxed breath and steady demeanor was a disguise – Loki's physical excitement was very evident, and she knew eventually he would want her to do something about it.

* * *

Sif returned, stomping her boots to get rid of the snow and, perhaps, to warn Loki of her approach. When she entered, Loki was stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce and Natasha was laying out plates. "You are lifesavers," Sif announced. "I'm ready to eat my left arm."

"No need for that. Wine?" Natasha poured several glasses, and as the pasta cooked the three of them toasted Loki's graduation, the holidays, the snow, the Norse gods. During dinner the toasts became more and more ridiculous, and Natasha laughed so hard her stomach ached.

"To Sif's snow-covered boots!" Loki shouted.

"To your twitching nose," the dark-haired girl shot back.

"To my department head's large behind," Natasha added.

"Oh, yes, I will definitely drink to that. He's the reason you're here at all." Loki raised and lowered his eyebrows several times, and Sif made a sound of disgust.

"Ye gods, snowed into a cabin with a pair of lovestruck teenagers. What did I do in my former lives to deserve it?"

"We're not teenagers," Natasha argued.

"We are lovestruck, though," Loki laughed.

"See what I mean? Spare me." Sif rolled her eyes.

"Okay, bring out the cards and let's have a game. It might stop me from quoting poetry or kissing the hem of her dress." Loki winked at Natasha, and she raised her glass.

"I'll drink to that."

"Me too. Alcohol and gambling – it's the only way to get through this." Sif was still grumbling, but Natasha could tell she was doing it just to get under Loki's skin.

They played games like Beggar My Neighbor, Racing Demon, and Old Maid. Natasha protested the last and declared the phrase Old Maid to be hypocritical and old-fashioned, so Loki renamed it Natasha's Department Head. The loser, he stated, would have to down a shot of vodka and be disgusting Dr. Bart for the next game.

Sif turned on the radio and they played to the background of Christmas carols. Outside, the snow began to fall again. The house smelled of good food and pine needles, and Natasha considered she had never felt so at home, so alive.

* * *

Christmas passed in a blur. A large number of relatives descended on the lake house, along with Loki's parents and Sif's brother. There were a great deal of gifts exchanged, food eaten, drinks handed round on trays. Natasha was worried that Loki's mother might look at her as a predator eager to pounce on her son, but Mrs. Odinson seemed to take it all in stride.

Natasha was abashed when she was handed a few packages. She couldn't remember the last time she was given a gift that hadn't come from Phil and Clint. Loki's mother gave her a hand-knitted sweater, and Sif produced an old version of the Norse Edda, complete with glowing illustrations. Natasha held the book on her lap, smoothing the cover under her fingers. When she thought no one was looking, she brushed her wrist over her eyes, to hide the tears.

"Let's go for a walk," Loki whispered. His father was asleep in a recliner chair, and Sif sat with his mother, looking at old photographs.

Natasha pulled on the new sweater, thrust her feet into boots, and hid the package with his scarf in one pocket. Outside, the flakes spun lazily down from the sky; soon it would be completely dark.

Loki held her hand as they navigated the path around the lake. The air was crisp and so clean it nearly burned Natasha's lungs, used to the roadside smells from her tiny apartment. The snow crunched underfoot, and by the light of the flashlight he held they could make out the tracks of the deer and rabbits. "We can put out food for them tomorrow," he offered, pointing to the prints.

Natasha felt her heart swell. It was almost painful, the new sensation of happiness; she wasn't sure how to handle it. She tugged on his hand to stop him and, underneath the boughs of a tree laden with snow, she pulled Loki close and kissed his mouth. It was like standing inside a white tent.

"Natasha," he whispered. "I…"

"Hey," she interrupted. "I have something for you." Natasha handed over the wrapped scarf, plucked off her balaclava to run her hand through her curls as he unwrapped it. "It's just a small gift, but I wanted to say thanks for inviting me here. This was the most beautiful Christmas ever."

Loki removed the scarf and held it to his skin. "Soft," he commented. "This is perfect. And," he looped it around Natasha's neck, drew her close, "I agree. Beautiful is the word."

She stared up into his green eyes, felt something flicker in her belly. "I was talking about the holiday," she faltered.

"I know. I wasn't, though." With a jerk on the scarf, Loki brought her into the woolen circle of his arms to kiss her thoroughly with tongue and teeth. Soon they were both panting, hands under each other's jackets, leaning against the trunk of the tree. "Take care," he whispered. "We don't want to bring the snow tumbling down on us."

Natasha laughed against his lips. "Good point."

His tongue swirled into her mouth, creating a dull ache between her legs. A reddened darkness invaded her, and she realized she was moaning and pressing closer, feeling his erection nudge against her thigh. "Natasha," he breathed, staring with heavy-lidded eyes into hers.

" _I know you think about the students and rut with them in the halls."_

"We should get back," Natasha said. Shame prickled against her neck, made sweat pop in her palms.

Loki was breathing heavily, and his laugh had a shaky sound. "Yes, we should. But first …" He handed her a tiny box, tied with a green ribbon. "It's a puzzle," he teased. "I thought you might enjoy discovering the secret."

* * *

" _Do you enjoy ruining that boy's life? Too bad he doesn't know what a whore you are – but soon he will find out."_

Once she returned to campus, the notes started to arrive in earnest, sometimes twice a day. Natasha cringed when the mail arrived and often left it piled up inside her front door, not wanting to see the little scrap of paper and read the poisonous words.

However, she was able to forget them as she taught. The college granted her another class, and she worked harder than ever to prepare, write lectures and, after the class, rewrite them to submit as articles. Her salary was increased to an almost living wage, and she splurged on a few much-needed clothes. She even started to eye up an old car parked with a For Sale sign in a local garage.

Loki was no longer on campus. He started a job with his father's firm in the city, but on the weekends he arrived, insisting that Natasha put aside her papers and come with him for dinner, dancing, or simply a date at the movies. She enjoyed being with him – their conversation was as lively as ever, and sometimes Sif joined them with one of her numerous boyfriends.

However, as soon as they were alone together, Natasha remembered the words on the letters. After the movies he took her in his new car to scenic overlook. There, in the circle of his arms, she kissed him passionately and tasted the delicious flavour of his tongue. Just as she was about to lose her mind and rip off Loki's shirt, the phrase "rutting in the halls" clanged in her mind and she withdrew, shuddering.

He started to develop a suspicious, wary glance around her, and the make-out sessions became less frequent. As winter brightened into a rather muddy spring, Natasha told herself it wouldn't be long before the relationship ended altogether.

* * *

Loki dropped her off after a chaste night at the diner. For once, talk had flagged, sounded artificial and forced. As she locked the door behind him, Natasha remembered him on the campus bench with the frantic girl kissing him as though her life depended on it. Was he seeing someone in the city? She ran a hand through her curls and admitted to herself that of course he was. Loki was a young man, extremely attractive. Why would he bother with a rather boring professor?

But it wasn't that, she reasoned. The thing was – she wanted to go to bed with him just as much as he did. It was the thought of those anonymous letters, their sly hints and innuendoes, that stopped her from making it happen. If she had told him No, she was certain Loki would deal with it politely. However, she was sending out such mixed signals the whole thing had become a disaster.

Natasha emitted one long cry of frustration and sank onto her couch. She started up again, hand pressed to her chest, when there was a loud, annoyed knock on her door.

"It's me," Loki called through the keyhole. "Let me in."

With a long sigh, Natasha closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was confront him, to see his green eyes and the desire there, to ignore it and her own wanton shame.

Best to get it over with. She opened the door.

Loki had one hand on the doorframe, a furious glint in his eyes. "We need to talk," he said. "I'm coming inside."

Natasha stood back, waved one hand at the couch. Loki ignored the seat, kicked the door closed behind him, and grasped her arms in his large hands. "I simply couldn't leave, and then I heard you groan through the door," he said through gritted teeth, "and you sounded just as frustrated as I feel. What is it, Natasha? What is going on? Could you please just tell me? If you don't want me any longer, then just let me know at once. Rip off the bandaid – no more of this long, torturous process. I cannot handle it any longer."

"I know, I know. I feel the same…"  _Rutting. Whore. That boy._  Natasha put both hands over her face and shook her head. "I can't talk about it. I'm sorry."

"Damn it!" Loki let go of her so suddenly she staggered.

"Listen," she said desperately. "Would you like a drink? I have a bottle of wine left over from New Year's Eve."

"God, yes. I could really use a glass."

"Me too." Natasha whisked to the kitchen, got out a tray and two glasses, the wine, and a corkscrew. She polished the chipped crystal and added a few cocktail napkins, stalling as long as possible.

"How long have you been receiving these?" Loki's voice was deadly.

Natasha screamed, turned around, and saw the scrap of paper in his hand. A wave of pulsating shame went through her body, followed by searing anger. "Are you reading my mail?" she demanded.

"It was piled up near the door. I moved it so I could – Natasha, this is not 'mail'. It is a crime. It's disgusting, what they wrote about you. Who is doing it?"

"But it's true!" she shouted. "Just look at me! I am a whore, meeting you whenever I can, thinking about you at night, trying to hold back and not doing a very good job of it, it's to the point where I can't sleep, and the person who writes these notes is simply exposing the truth…"

With a quick movement he grasped her jaw in his hand. "Stop!" he thundered. "Do not dare to grace this filth with the word Truth! You work too hard, and I see it, and everyone sees it, how desperately you fight each day to be recognized as an intelligent force, and I am merely a disgraced student who has a job with his dad because I dropped out of school, and I don't deserve you!"

They glared at each other, mere inches apart. Natasha drew in her breath to say something, but Loki grabbed her face and kissed her so violently she was bent backwards over the sink.

Natasha's desire flamed in her chest, her skin, became a flickering pulse between her legs. It was wrong, forbidden, but with his tongue in her mouth, his teeth on her neck, she didn't care. "I can't hold back any longer," she moaned in Loki's mouth.

"Then don't. Forget that filth. It's not who you are – how dare you even consider it!" His eyes blazed and he lifted her onto the tiny counter to plunder her mouth again.

She locked her legs around his waist, pulled him closer with his collar. "I wanted to climb on top of you in that diner," she confessed.

"Why the hell didn't you? And why did you hide this fire from me for so long?"

"Because I'm not allowed to feel that way! I'm a woman – I'm an academic!" As she argued she bit his ear, unbuttoned his shirt, yanked it down to scrape red fingernails over his shoulder and the powerful muscles of his back.

"Fuck all of that," Loki growled. "You are so beautiful inside and out, and …!" He shouted with frustration and unzipped her dress to pull it down.

"Oh, my God. What are you doing…?"

Loki thrust her to arm's length. "Do you want me to stop? Tell me now, and I'll walk out of here."  _Rutting. Whore. I know what you did._  The words ran through her mind, and he shook her. "Stop!" he shouted. "That is not you!"

Natasha collapsed back against the cabinets and pulled his shirt so he was pressed between her legs. "I don't care any more," she said. "I want you too much. Fuck the notes, and fuck the person who wrote them."

"No, I'm going to fuck my professor instead." Loki sucked in his breath, kissed her forcefully, undid her bra and stroked the pink tips. She arched back with a cry of delight, and he drew one nipple into his mouth, swirled it, and bit slightly.

"God, that's heaven," Natasha whimpered.

"I knew you were passionate. Never, ever hold back again. Do you promise?" His gaze was a force, and she countered with her own.

"I know you could get it anywhere you want…"

He shouted again, slammed his hands on either side of her head on the cabinets. The kitchen shook slightly. "Do NOT make love to me because you think I'm going to head out and have it off with another female. No one has this!" He held up one red curl. "Or this white skin! Or these hands – or this!" He tapped one finger against her forehead. "No one has this personality. Damn it, Natasha, you will drive me out of my mind. I want you.  _You_. Can you possibly understand? For someone so intelligent, you're being really dense."

The room wavered in front of her and she pulled him in for another long kiss. "I see," she murmured. "Well, then I'm going to teach you how to make love in the kitchen." Natasha unbuckled his pants, yanked them down, whistled. "Forget something?"

"I don't see the need for boxers." He darted her a sidelong glance.

"Jesus. Get my dress off, will you?"

Apparently that was all she had to say. Loki tore the dress over her head; she was certain she heard a rip. Her bra joined it on the floor – a second later her panties did as well, and she was left in stockings and garter belt. Loki started to undo them, but Natasha slapped his hand. "Leave those," she ordered.

It was his turn to curse, press closer, kiss a trail down her neck, over her breasts, down her stomach, to the cleft framed with red curls. "Glorious," he muttered. "I can't believe you've been hiding this for so long…mmmm."

Natasha threw her head back as he hummed and licked her clit, tongue flickering over the folds of swollen tissue. She was so ready for it, she almost felt she had a penis down there – it was completely shocking. Wrong. Not what nice girls would think. And – she loved it.

"Come here." She pulled his collar again and wrapped her legs around his hips. "I want to taste myself on you." Natasha kissed him again, and his hard length quivered against her. "Now. Christ, I'm so ready for you…"

He slid inside with one delicious thrust. "Ohhh," he moaned. "I wanted to do this while you were teaching me. Right in the front of class. I didn't care if anyone saw, I would have had you over the desk."

Natasha pushed up with her arms, lifting her hips off the counter to deepen the thrusts. "Fuck me, my best student. You learned so well – this is your reward. You get to fuck the teacher."

"Oh, oh – yes – oh, I won't – I am desperate…" His strokes were passionate, hard, driving with a friction that brought her close to the edge.

"Now come," she whispered, drawing him in and swiveling her core, clenching on his erection as her own release started. It was a series of slamming shocks, a live wire, a thunderstorm, a howling wind.

Loki plunged between her legs, bit her neck, and spurted into her. "Darling! Natasha!"

They clung to each other, jittering with the aftershocks of their shared spending. "Loki," Natasha said. "I never felt anything like that."

He held her face between his hands, looked intently into her eyes. "Do you mean it?"

"Don't make me slap you. I never say anything I don't mean."

* * *

In her narrow bed, they drank wine and kissed the red drops from each other's throats. "Darling, are you going to turn those letters into the police?" Loki murmured against her skin, closing his eyes to breathe her in.

"I don't want anyone to know about them. I don't want the word to get round – please don't tell a soul." She grasped his chin, looked into his eyes. "Promise me."

"I will, but I want you to move away from here. It's not safe enough, love. And, while we're on that subject, did you ever manage to open the box I gave you?"

Natasha jumped. "I forgot all about it!"

"Well, you're name's not Pandora, obviously. Go on, give it a go."

She sat up, opened the drawer on the nightstand, and withdrew the little box. After a few minutes of twiddling while Loki kissed her neck, caressed her nipples, smoothed his hands over her thighs, she found the secret and flipped up the lid to withdraw the silver ring inside. "Did it! Even with you trying to make it as difficult as possible."

Loki pushed her back into the pillows and climbed on top. "Put it on," he insisted.

Natasha wavered. "Are you…" She stopped, not wanting to make too much of it.

"Yes, I'm certain. Put it on."

She picked up the ring, drew it on her finger, looked closer at the box. "There's something else in here," she laughed. "Were you cutting up magazines for a project?"

Loki sucked in his breath and sat up suddenly as she pointed to the tiny coloured square. "Oh, no," he whispered. "Do not touch it – not yet."

As always, the realization made them both sad. "You were unbearably sexy in this world," Natasha said.

"I shall be unbearably sexy in Asgard too," he supplied helpfully, "as long as you are not too angry with me."

"Loki, these have been getting harder. Have you noticed? No, stop that - I'm not talking about your cock for once. These – adventures have become more dangerous. This one was really dark."

He closed his eyes, held her close, smelled her skin. "One more to go and you will be back with me. We have to agree to work together as much as we can, once we remember. But just in case – if I am a total idiot in the next one – give me a signal so I can find you."

"Signal." She thought for a moment. "Can you think of anything?"

"How about that song you were singing when you were the Countess?"

"Greensleeves?"

"Yes. In case of an emergency, sing me Greensleeves."

She nodded, threw one leg over his hips, and pressed him down on the pillows. "I want to go out with you inside me this time. Are you ready for it?"

He guided her onto his erection, sucked in his breath as she slid onto the slick shaft. "Always, darling. Always."


	11. Rock God – Manhattan, 1978

**The Ninth Piece**

* * *

The crowd was chanting his name; he could hear it in the dressing room. His band was already onstage, but Loki always gave it fifteen minutes before he showed up. It drove the fans so crazy that by the time he strutted into the lights the entire stadium would go wild.

"Do you hear that?" The blond on his lap kissed him, wriggled her hips. She could probably feel his erection – he always got hard before a show.

"Baby, do you want a hit?" That was the other girl, the one with the long black hair. Loki put his arm around her, gave her a long, slow French kiss.

"Sure, why not?" He snorted back the line she cut out for him. His manager was always warning him the drug would ruin his voice, slow his career, stop him from getting so much sex. So far none of those warnings had come true.

"And this?" the black-haired girl added, flicking a needle.

He considered. There was no chance he was hooked – he only shot up when he wanted, maybe once a week. Okay, maybe more than that. But it went between his toes so no one could see. Besides, he could control it – and all the greats shot up; everyone knew that. However, he knew if the stuff went into his veins first he'd nod out during the show. "No, save it for later. Or do it yourself, I don't give a fuck."

Unceremoniously he dumped the blond as he stood and checked the mirror. Long black hair, no shirt, tight leather pants, eyeliner, black fingernails… he was hot as hell, and he knew it. "I'm the sexiest damn thing in this stadium," he said to the mirror.

"Damn straight, babe," the blonde said.

* * *

The show was amazing. The songs were from his Letters from Asgard album, dropping a hundred thousand copies and still going. It was a record with a bullet, and he intended to enjoy every moment of the ride.

The sex in the dressing room afterwards was amazing. The club was amazing – it was all amazing. "Amazing," Loki said to the girl dancing with him. She was dark-skinned, beautiful. He thought she had been Asian a second ago, but the lines were starting to blur together.

The sex in the limo after the club was amazing. His house was amazing. Shooting up beside the girl with the long black hair was amazing.

That's when it all ended.

* * *

He woke with a terrible fear in his heart, scrabbling on the floor for something. In his dream it had been really important that he find it, but now he couldn't remember what it was. His head felt like someone had drilled into his skull, and there was a taste of vomit in his mouth. Some asshole was calling him; he could hear the phone but was unable to move.

A sound of high heels grew louder. An unknown female picked up the phone, answered in a cool, calm voice. "Yes, I'm here. Yes, it's just like you said. Yes, I'll get him cleaned up – look, stop talking and let me do my job." There was a firm click, and the heels tapped over to where Loki lay.

"Okay, I can see you are awake." She knelt down next to him and held out a bottle of water. "Here, have a few sips – only a few. We'll get you cleaned up and you can get some sleep. I mean real sleep, not passing out in your own puke."

Loki groaned, opened one eye, and realized he was lying in a puddle of vomit, just as she said. Then he was being carried by surprisingly strong arms to the bathtub, dumped into it, and warm water run onto him. Someone undressed him, and he managed to croak out, "While you're down there…"

"You are not up for anything, and a blow job is the last thing you need right now. You have got to hydrate, rest, and get clean in that order - it's my job to make sure you do."

Despite the rocks rolling around inside his brain, Loki managed to get a look at the speaker. She was a gorgeous redhead, built like a brick shithouse and dressed in a classy suit. Moaning, he wished he were in better shape so he could impress her a bit… But what did it matter? When he sobered up, he would find her and get her to open her legs for him. Or someone who looked like her, he didn't really care.

Somehow she got him out of his disgusting clothes into clean pajamas and on top of his bed. A warm quilt was thrown over him. A straw thrust between his teeth so he could drink some water, which he instantly heaved up into a bucket she held ready. And more water, which he managed to keep down.

And after that, sleep.

* * *

When she returned, Loki sat in the window seat, staring out over the lawn. His house was close to the city but far enough where he could have trees and the sound of birdsong when he wanted. Despite the cold air, he had the window open; he turned with an almost guilty look and slammed it shut when the redhead walked in with a tray of what looked like tea, toast, and a steaming bowl of soup.

"You don't have to close it on my account," she laughed. "I love the fresh air." The tray went on a small table next to him, and she leaned over to pull up the sash, take a deep sniff of the winter wind. It smelled like snow.

And she smelled like heaven. She was pure class, just as he had thought – wearing a suit which followed her curves but wasn't so tight that it looked like a prostitute's version of a working girl. "What's your name?" Loki asked.

"I'm Natasha." She pulled forward a straight chair and sat close, looked at him with a direct, blue stare.

"Natasha," he repeated. "That's pretty."

"Would you like some tea? I made it in a teapot, not in the microwave. Or some toast? It's pretty much bread used as an excuse to eat a lot of melted butter." Her eyes crinkled, but she never really smiled, just spread her lips slightly. It was a secret smile, as though she knew something no one else did.

Loki was fascinated. He decided he would win her to his bed by being good for a few hours; once he had fucked her he could get back to the twenty-four hour party. Or, if she was really good in bed, he would keep up the pretense for a few days until he was bored. Either way, he was determined to have her, the woman who smelled like sakura blossoms and soap, with her crisp white blouse and secret smile.

"Try a sip of tea," she urged. "I mix it myself from loose tealeaves. There's nothing wrong with a classic English brew, but sometimes it's a challenge to create different layers of flavour."

Cautiously Loki took the hot cup, making certain their fingertips touched over the saucer; as he did saw he saw the huge rock on her left hand, a massive diamond.  _Damn,_  he thought. It was followed by a surge of desire – her being unavailable only made him all the more determined to have her in his bed.

The tea was delicious, as she said. It tasted of jasmine, India, smoke. He exclaimed with pleasure, drained the cup. "I'll bring you more," she said, but he caught her wrist. So tiny in his hands, although her own fingers were long, with neatly filed nails. Natural. Pure class.

"I'm fine. Just stay here for a moment. Talk to me." Loki bit into a square of toast, resisted a moan of delight.

Natasha laughed. "Sometimes the simple pleasures are best. Here – you've got butter on your chin." She wiped it off with a napkin, sat back in the chair, and laced her fingers on her lap. "I'm going to be straight with you, Loki. You've had a lot of people spin you lines of bullshit for the past year and a half, and it's gotten you into a hell of a lot of trouble. I'll clean it up, give you a fresh start. But I'll also promise to tell you the truth, be the one person who will tell you when you're being an asshole and how to fix it."

"What sort of trouble?" Loki banged his head against the wall to show his frustration.

"Let's see: puking in a limo. Peeing in said limo. Assaulting a security guard in the club. Getting engaged to three different women and two men, and that's just last night."

"What?" He sat up, eyes bulging with horror, and she giggled.

"I told you, I'm going to clear all of this up, but it would be great if we could move forward." Natasha edged forward and put one cool hand over his. "I know everyone tells you this, but you're a genius. Your lyrics and music take me to a different place when I hear them."

"Right – with rainbow unicorns and kittens, I suppose." He'd heard it all before – blacklight, the back of a van, a big fat joint, and his songs.  _'It's like you read my mind, you know, maaaaan? Like we're in a different dimension together.'_  If he had a buck for each chick who gave him that line…

Natasha shook her head. "No, I don't mean that. Your music actually gives me a vision of a place. There is a huge golden palace, and several moons in the sky. The scale is huge. Everything is bigger than life. And I can see the rainbow bridge, only it ends at a strange machine." She shook her head, as if to acknowledge her own foolish imagination. "I know it sounds silly – never mind."

Loki gaped, felt the rhythm of his heart speed up. He leaned forward, grasped her wrist, and looked intently into her eyes. "That's exactly what I imagined when I wrote those songs. Do you really see the palace?"

Her lips spread again in that secret smile. "Did you? That's funny. Yes, and a lot of other things. But listen, we have to talk about you. I want to get you healthy, get you back to writing songs again…" The phone rang, and she sighed. "Excuse me. You stay here and eat some soup. I'll take care of this – I'm certain it's for me anyway."

Loki sat back and ate a few mouthfuls. It was homemade chicken soup, and it tasted really good. He listened idly as she argued on the phone. "That is not a good idea. We need to do this my way – yes, I know, but – listen, it will end up as a waste of time and money! Jesus, just give me a few weeks, and – Hello? Hello?" Whoever was on the other end had hung up.

Her black heels tapped over to his window seat, and Loki saw she had assumed a look of severe professionalism. "Looks like the powers that be want you to return to the clinic in LA," she stated.

"And you don't approve, obviously. Do you, darling?" The endearment slipped out, but it was okay. In the music biz, everyone was baby or darling.

Natasha took it in stride. "No, because you've been there before and slipped up a few days after leaving. You get a fresh start with new blood and spend it on a new high. A pop with recharged blood cells is almost like the first time, isn't it? So, no – I don't hold out much hope. But once you slip up, I'll be there to catch you and do it my way."

Furious, Loki hurled the tray into the far corner of the room, spilling toast, tea, and hot soup all over the farmhouse floorboards. "Who are you to say what happens to me? I'll show you exactly what rehab does – I'll get clean and write an album that will blow your knickers off. And when it does, you can search for a new babysitting job – I'm through with you."

"Right." She rose, picked up the tray, and headed to the door. "See you in a few weeks," she declared and closed the door softly behind her.

* * *

Loki liked the Ironwood Rehab facility. In LA the weather was warm and the pool outside was heated. The nurses (and some of the doctors) took their jobs as a continual party. Guests were allowed in, as well as fans; he immediately had a few girls slip in to visit, and there was a cute little nurse dying for him as well.

Once they recycled his blood, cleaned it out, and replaced it he felt incredible. Loki promised himself he would go on a writing binge just as soon as he got the sexy little nurse into the hot tub.

And then the girl with black hair showed up. "Did you miss me?" she asked.

"Darling, I can't even remember your name." Loki was in a cocky mood; he was ready to take on even Natasha. He had decided something had to be physically wrong with her; why else would she ignore the advances of a rock god?

"Angela," she said. "I'm Angela, and I have something for you." She reached inside a slim purse; produced a hypodermic.

"What the fuck?" Loki put an arm around her and steered her to the door. "I'm here to get off that shit, not pump more in my veins. For once I'm clean. Go give it to someone on the corner."

Angela put her arms around his neck and licked his cheek. "Sure," she said. "But I'll be back."

* * *

Loki and the nurse were flirting in his room. She had long cornrowed braids cascading down her back, and he caught them in his fist to tip her face back and kiss it. Her tongue was a hot snake in his mouth.

Naturally, that was when Natasha walked in. He looked up, breaking the kiss, to see the surprise in her face. "Sorry," she said. "The door was open…"

"I have to get back to my shift anyway," the nurse said. She disappeared, leaving them alone in his room.

Natasha crossed one arm across her waist. "Crap. I am so sorry – although the staff here really aren't supposed to … but it's none of my business. God, my apologies."

She turned to go, but he darted forward and caught her wrist. "Your ring. It's gone."

"Oh. Yes, my fiancé and I decided to call it off."

"Don't tell me he was cheating on you!" Loki felt his dick quiver. He could offer sympathy, get her to cry on his shoulder… of course, after she found him kissing that nurse, it might be a bit harder to pull it off…

Natasha laughed. "No, nothing like that. We just didn't see eye to eye artistically, that's all. He's a good guy - we're still great friends."

"Right. I was going to say, he would be a fool to play around with a lovely woman like you."

She laughed again." And you wouldn't?"

Loki felt uncomfortable. "No! Well, darling, I mean nurses and groupies are one thing, but a real lady is a completely different category. I would treat you like china, take you to all the hottest spots, show you how to really live, and then…"

"And then rock my world, I'm sure." Her eyes sparkled with fun, and he realized she was the most stunning woman he had ever seen. She still smelled like soap and sakura, and she wore another white blouse, so crisp and clean it nearly hurt his eyes.

"You don't trust me?"

"Uh – nooooo. No, I do not. I admire you, and I think you are the most talented musician of the year, but trust? Nope."

Loki was annoyed. "Why did you come here then? To flaunt your single status as something I can't touch?"

"Not at all. I wanted to give you this." She put a wrapped package in his hands, kissed his cheek, and walked out, her heels tapping on the tiled floor.

Loki stood stock-still, one hand clapped over his cheek. The mere brush of Natasha's lips had given him a rush, something he hadn't felt since his first time in bed with a girl, getting signed to a label, writing that first song and knowing it was really, really good.

He ripped off the paper. Inside was a framed painting of a huge palace, done in dark and gold colours. Two moons hovered overhead, and there was just a hint of a rainbow bridge, heading off the side of the paper. It was exactly the vision he had when he wrote the music for his album.

So by the time the little nurse sidled back in, Loki waved her off and told her he wanted to be alone. He was confused. What was happening to him? Was it the effects of the rehab – or something more permanent?

* * *

The nurse returned the following night with a friend, and together they put on a show for him. Loki had planned on spending the night alone to write some new lyrics, he really had, but when he saw the two women's bodies twined together and covered with oil he lost all control. One of them brought a few lines of coke, which he snorted off their breasts – after that, things got loose and dreamy. The party, it seemed, had started all over again.

When he woke, his manager called. "Time to go back on the road, Loki," Thanos insisted. "We had to cancel three shows at it was. You've had two weeks of rehab – I think you're cured.

Loki pushed himself up from between the two women, still sleeping on the floor. "I don't know," he started. "It was ugly last time – I really don't want to fall into that void again."

Thanos made a noise in his throat. "You'll be fine. Get your shit together – I'll have a limo ready for you."

Loki sighed, got up, and looked around the room. He decided not to pack. The staff could keep it all – he really didn't want anything except his notebook and the painting from Natasha.

In the limo, he slept. On the plane, he drank. In the next limo, he did more lines. In the dressing room, he made out with a couple of girls and one really hot guy.

Onstage, he had an amazing performance – the crowd was totally into it. It was one of the best shows yet – he felt the wave of sound hit him when they chanted his name. It was like swimming in electricity.

And after the show, there was Angela. With the needle.

* * *

"Shut the fuck up, Thanos," somebody said in a cold voice. "If this keeps up he will die, and then you won't have your little cash cow any longer. We're doing it my way this time, and you can just suck it."

The receiver crashed into the cradle, and a pair of cool hands lifted Loki up from the floor. He mumbled as he realized he lay in more puke. "One of these days you'll aspirate it," she whispered. "Do you know what that means? You'll drown in your own vomit. You're coming with me so that doesn't happen."

Shower, cold water. Clothes stripped off his body. More puke, this time into the loo. Another shower, but with warm water. Then clean pajamas and crisp sheets.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Loki sat in the passenger seat. The sun was very bright, and he hid behind a pair of dark designer shades.

Natasha drove. It was her own car, an old VW she rebuilt herself, she told him. "To a place I have in upstate New York," she said. "There's an orchard there and an old farmhouse. We're going to stay for a month at the very least."

He struggled to undo the seatbelt she had made him wear. "I have rehearsals – concert dates – recordings… let me the fuck out!"

Pressing a calm hand to his chest, Natasha shook her head. "You  _will_  make the rehearsals and concerts, but on my terms. It may seem romantic to die young and leave a beautiful corpse, but it really isn't." He subsided, and she continued, "I call this car Sleipnir. What do you think?"

"It's hardly a speedy eight-legged horse…wow!"

She stepped on the gas and the car lurched forward. "When I rebuilt it I upgraded the engine, made it mine. Made it superfast. Plus, this thing will last into the next millennium."

"Sleipnir, huh? Not bad." Loki yawned; it had been a crazy few weeks and he realized he was tired.

"Go ahead and take a nap. I'll just keep driving."

"Very well." He closed his eyes and slid into darkness; in his dream he was hanging off a bridge, and the only way to save his world was to let go. He fell, whistling past stars and galaxies until he jerked awake, his heart hammering in his chest.

Instantly Natasha put her hand on his, curled her fingers around his thumb. "Hey," she said, "it's okay."

Loki watched her calm profile for a moment – strong chin, beautiful mouth, sharp cheekbones, long red hair. His eyes fluttered closed again, and he slept without dreaming.

* * *

Her house was along a lake, surrounded by apple trees and grapevines. "I know it's April," Natasha advised, "but we still get frosts out here." She handed Loki a sweatshirt and added, "Betcha it snows tomorrow. It'll warm up by the afternoon, though, enough to go for a hike."

"Hike. Huh." His nap had left him grumpy; he slid out of the car and lurched towards the house with stiff legs.

"But for right now, just go and relax. I'll make dinner and later show you around." Natasha carried in a pair of suitcases; Loki tried to take one from her but she shook him off. "Here, go and sit in the den and see if you can find some music to play for us."

He wandered in the direction she pointed out and gasped. The back room had the largest, most expensive sound system he had ever seen – top of the line turntable and major speakers. The shelves were lined with albums – classical, jazz, rock, folk, blues –live versions and demos as well.

By the time Natasha found him, a couple of drinks in her hand, he was stacking a pile of Mothers of Invention albums on the spindle. "Zappa," she commented. "Righteous."

Loki smirked, took a drink and sipped. He made a face and gasped, "What the hell is this?"

"Apple cider, from the farm. It's filled with vitamins."

"How about a beer, for fuck's sake?" He was furious. "Or wine? Or a huge glass of vodka, better yet?"

"Vodka?" She gave him that secret smile. "Now you're talking my language. But no – not for you, not yet. You're not an alcoholic, but you do have an addictive personality. We're going to get you strong enough to be able to turn down the shit that's been injected into your veins."

Loki put down the glass, backed away from it. "A whole month of this?"

She produced a large plate of appetizers. "I'm a good cook, so there's that. And if you're good and work hard, you can have your beer."

The vol-au-vents were good; dinner was even better – a large tray of stuffed shells with melting cheese flanked by fresh salad. Loki and Natasha ate, and every so often he went and changed the record. Dessert was apple pie and vanilla ice cream with coffee.

After all that food she suggested a quick walk. Loki sighed, fetched the warm sweatshirt, and slumped outside. He had survived the evening, but the thought of staying for an entire month made him restless and edgy; already he knew he wouldn't make it.

Natasha came up behind him and slipped her fingers into his hand. "Come on, I'll show you around." She tugged him to the barn and said, "These are the horses. The neighbors take care of them while I'm not here."

"Oh!" Loki was surprised. "I didn't know you had – gosh, big, aren't they."

She laughed. "Here, give the mare a carrot. Go on, she won't bite you."

Gingerly he held out his hand and fed the black mare a slice of carrot from the bag Natasha held out. The horse crunched it up, tossing her head. "Hey, that's pretty cool!" He reached for another one, and fed it to the stallion in the next stall.

She crossed her arms and gave him that secret smile. "If you get well enough and really promise to do your best, I'll teach you to ride."

However, the next morning it snowed, just as she had predicted. Loki woke up and grimaced at the window. It had been the longest night of sleep he could remember; usually he passed out and woke up in the middle of the afternoon, but it was only ten in the morning.

He slouched out to the kitchen, where Natasha was making pancakes and sausage. She looked impossibly clean and groomed. "Morning," she smiled.

"Ugh." Loki slumped into a chair. "I think I slept too much."

She came up behind him, put a large plate down, and kissed him on the cheek. "I think you needed it. Here, get that down your neck, and we can…"

"Cut it out!" he shouted. "I've had it with the home-cooked food, and your clean lifestyle, and the whole farm thing! I want to go to the city and party until I pass out and then do it again!"

Natasha sat down next to him, folded her hands, and looked at him with that direct, blue gaze. "Why?" she asked.

"Why?"

"Yes. Tell me why that's so important."

"Because…" He gaped at her. There was no one answer.

"Is it because it's the accepted life for a 'rock god'?" She made little quote marks with her fingers as she spoke. "Or is it what you are used to? Or is it something else entirely?"

Loki shook his head. "I don't know – maybe all three?"

"And what is the third thing?" Natasha handed him the maple syrup.

"So I don't – so I don't have to think too much."

She nodded. "Yeah. That makes perfect sense. Listen – if you want to leave, I'll take you right now. No one is holding you prisoner. However, if you do, that's it. I leave this assignment and move on to the next needy famous person."

He frowned. "Really? I can leave right now?"

"I promise. I'll even drive you back."

Her face was serene as she picked up the plates, brought them to the sink. She ran the water, humming an old tune he had heard when he was a kid.  _Greensleeves,_  it was called.

Loki heaved a huge sigh. "One more try," he announced. "I'll stay."

* * *

They went for a long walk in the snow, talking when Loki felt like it, quiet when he didn't; he had never been with someone who picked up on his moods so quickly. The sun came out, and they took out the horses. Loki picked up riding right away, and he was smirking at his own prowess by the time they went back to the house.

She made fresh bread and started a pot of chili for dinner; soon the house was filled with its warm, rich fragrance and the incomparable smell of baking bread.

That night, Loki started writing lyrics again. When he went to bed, his second night of sleeping before midnight, the sheets smelled like the outdoors. Natasha, pausing at his bedroom to say goodnight, said she hung them out to get that crisp, clean smell. "You can't buy that," she added.

"Sometimes the simple things are best," he echoed, and she smiled.

That secret smile. It was starting to drive him crazy.

* * *

There was no TV, not even a phone. Loki started to feel he was in a private bubble; at first it seemed constrictive, but after a week it was natural. When he wasn't riding or helping out at the orchard, Loki spent hours in an old armchair, working on a new set of songs. The words poured out as he wrote – he had never felt so productive. Natasha spent her time in the barn or in a studio upstairs, taking care of the horses and painting.

The next week, the mail started to come in. Messages from fans, along with flowers and gifts. Letters from worried producers and managers – "I'll deal with those," Natasha said firmly. Even a card from his father, which Loki threw into the fireplace when she wasn't looking.

That was when his urges set in, as his body healed from the abuse he had given it for years. Suddenly, all he could think about was Natasha. As she mixed waffles and arranged cut flowers in a vase, he watched her ass – so round and tempting – move under the tight, faded jeans. Her breasts, straining against the white T-shirt. More than that – her long fingers, her beautiful feet. When was the last time he drooled over a girl's feet?

As they sat in front of the fire, he looked at her toenails, red against the brown of the table. She had her legs propped up, and unable to stop himself, he leaned forward and cupped his hand around her heel.

Natasha didn't move, and he moved her feet to lie in his lap. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing too cheeky. I just wanted some contact." Loki winked at her and started to rub her toes.

She smiled, relaxed against the cushions, arched her back. "That feels really good, I must say."

He had never seen anything so erotic in his life. Normally he would surge forward, cover her body with his, and start biting her neck. Five minutes later they'd be fucking, and an hour after that he'd be on the road to the next one.

But he didn't want it to play out like that with Natasha, for some reason. She was – as cliché as it sounded – different. Special. She grabbed his attention and didn't let go. She made him feel strong, like anything was possible.

In a way, he loved her. And a first kiss, a first night together – that was a shining possibility, and he didn't want it to disappear, in case she said No. Therefore, after he rubbed her feet for a while and pressed his lips to the arch of her sole, Loki got up, padded to the kitchen, and busied himself with dishing out dinner.

* * *

"I have something to show you." Loki felt nervous as he handed over the notepad with songs; they were scribbled over, messy – rewritten – one was completely crossed out.

Natasha put down the book she was reading and focused her attention on the lyrics. For a long while she didn't say anything, and he watched her hair swing over her face, the way her eyelashes rose and fell as she read and reread.

She reached the last song, stiffened, and met his eyes. Slowly she read the words, and she traced the title with her fingertips. "Did you mean this to be about…"

"About you? Yeah." The name of the song was Natasha of Asgard. The recent group of lyrics were songs about female warriors: Sif, Frigga, Freya, and the Valkyrie. The last was about Natasha, and how she fought with truth and dedication, strength of character and firm belief in herself. It was the most intimate piece he had ever produced.

She swiped one hand across her eyes. "Loki, I don't know what to say. I – I'm not like that in real life. I can be a bitch, be annoying. I hog the blankets. My friends say I don't bother keeping in touch. In the morning I'm cold and easily irritated."

"Why did you mention the part about hogging the blankets?" Once the words were out, Loki couldn't recall them.

Natasha met his eyes. He felt he was falling into a blue lake, or flying up into the sky. For a long moment, neither of them said anything, and the only sound was the ticking of the clock in the kitchen next door.

She leaned forward, just one tiny fraction of movement, and he couldn't hold back. Loki plunged his hands in her hair, brought her face to his, kissed her with longing.

"I don't know about this," she whispered.

"Don't think for once. Just be." He kissed her again, soft touches without demand, feeling his body respond but not wanting the possible rejection. Turned his face to deepen the kiss, taste her flavour of smoke and pine. Smelled the fragrance of her hair and neck, impossibly clean and soft. Carefully threaded his fingers through her curls.

And in the end it was Natasha who made the first move, who took off her shirt in one smooth motion and placed his hand on her breast. "There's no one here," she said against his lips. "Nowhere we have to be. We can take all night."

At that, he was lost. As if in a mirror, Loki placed her hand on his chest, and against her lovely fingers his heart raced. It was like nothing before. It was – ohhhhh.

"Don't fall in love with me," she warned.

"Too late," he retorted, and covered her mouth with his.

The music on the turntable came to an end. Loki picked her up, wound her legs around his waist, and changed the album. He carried her to his bed, pulled off her jeans and his own clothes before he lay next to her. "Your skin. Your lips. Your hair." He couldn't say anything else, just kissed her again and gathered her body as close as he could to his.

Natasha climbed on top, looked down at him with wide, frightened eyes. "What is happening?" she asked, toying with his hair, his nipples, his thighs.

"I told you to stop thinking and just be. Now, come here," Loki ordered. That was one good thing about being a rock god – you got used to demanding what you wanted.

Except he wanted more than her body. And as he licked her breasts, kissed her flat belly, buried his head between her thighs, tongued the swollen flesh and watched it quiver, he knew he couldn't just demand it; she had to give him what he wanted on her own. When she pulled him up to lie on her and he sank with a harsh cry inside her, hot and liquid walls milking his shaft so he reared back in ecstasy, Loki lost all control and shouted, "I love you! Natasha!"

* * *

When the sun came up, he was tracing idle designs on her back, following them with his lips. "It's morning," Natasha said, her chin on her fist.

"It's also the first time I've seen the dawn without being arseholed."

"I take it that means high as a kite." She stretched, wound her arms and legs around him. "Even though we didn't sleep at all, I feel great. Energized! I'm going to crash later, but…"

"Yes. On the sofa. With me."

She pretended to flop backwards. "That sounds amazing, especially if someone got us breakfast first." Natasha slitted one eye, peered at him, shut it quickly, and grinned.

Loki moved forward, bit her fingertips, her lower lip. "Say no more – I think I can rustle up some toast. Maybe even eggs." He moved to get up, but she caught his arm.

"Hey, you – I love you. And I'm not just saying it because of the toast." Natasha buried her face in his neck and whispered, "I think we're on the same wavelength."

"Mmmmm. We are definitely continuing this conversation – after that toast."

Loki kissed her, put on a pair of pajama pants, and headed to the kitchen. His head spun with lack of sleep, hunger, but more than that the possibility of shining happiness. He pulled out a carton of eggs, bread, butter, and a big cast iron pan.

Pictures in his head – him and Natasha, on their knees in bed, their arms around each other. Making love to the rhythm of the music on the turntable. The line of her chin when she shook with release in his arms. Her breath, surging in his ear. The memory went straight to his cock, and he planned to take her again after they ate. Fresh food, morning delight, and a long nap – it sounded like the perfect day.

And then – a pin prick on the side of his neck.

"Don't move," a voice said.

Angela.

Loki put his arms up, looked straight forward. "How the fuck did you get in here? What the bloody hell do you want? I'm done with all that shite. Done with the drugs, with the women…"

"No, you aren't," she whispered. "I'm going to give you a pop right now, and you'll be mine again."

"No, you won't," a third voice said. Natasha. The sound of a revolver cocking into position.

Slowly Loki turned. Entirely naked, and also entirely at her ease, Natasha had a pistol trained on Angela. However, the black-haired woman still held the filled hypodermic to his neck. "Did he give you the final piece yet?" she asked.

"What? What piece?" Loki's voice betrayed his astonishment.

"Ah, so he didn't. Good. And now, he never will." Angela's voice was filled with triumph.

"Piece," Natasha said slowly. "Oh, my God. Loki – the ninth part of the picture. Do you have it?"

The knowledge hit him like the blow of a huge hammer. "Gods, I hope so." He felt in the pocket of the pants, held up the final square. "Here, darling…"

"No." Angela – no, that wasn't her name.

Angrboda stabbed him in the neck with the hypodermic. Mainlined. The pop went right to his blood, and he arched back in painful ecstasy with a cry of anguish.

At the same moment, the gun went off.

Then, the darkness of the Void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to samdram1, Starbooks13, captain-subtext, and tobemadeofglass for the lovely comments. They're wonderful writers as well - check out their stories when you have a minute.
> 
> Also, thanks to the readers who come by and take a few minutes to read my nonsense. You all fill my world with runes and magic.


	12. Return

**The Last Piece**

* * *

 

Loki's eyes fluttered open. He lay on the floor of the Cavern of Time, one long leg hanging over the side of the abyss. Digging frantically with his hands and feet, his breath whistled in his throat until he made it out of the hole and touched the warm skin of the body next to his.

"No. No. No." Anger was a cold snake in his belly eating its way out through his intestines. To have come so far - to have won her in every age and lose her in the end - it was unthinkable. Loki's hands shook with fury as he tossed up a glowing ball of light to see that the person next to him was indeed Natasha. However, she was still and silent – eyes closed, not moving. Her hand, when he touched it, was cold, limp.

Nearly retching from his frustration, Loki pressed his fingers to her neck and felt a slow thump. The time he had spent with his wife taught him what her heart rate was like – steady when she was relaxed, racing under his hands when they made love. But in the cavern, her heart was weak, a thread of the vital, intelligent force she was before.

He picked her up in his arms and strode to the entrance of the cave. Amazingly, Sleipnir still waited outside, and the steed rolled an inquisitive eye at Loki when he put Natasha in the saddle to climb up behind her. "Off to Asgard, my son," Loki said. "And let your legs travel as fast as the raging storm…"

The stallion instantly leapt forward, and Loki put one arm tightly around Natasha to hold her close – not only to keep her safely astride, but also to feel her breathing body next to his. Urgency spread black fear through his veins, acidic and corrosive. He had failed in the quest – had come so close, only to be stopped by Angrboda at the end. He felt as though a black creature sat on his chest, curling its alien claws through his skin. At one point, as they hurtled across the Plain of Ida, he flung his head back to scream with fury at the starry sky above them.

Between his thighs, Natasha lolled in the saddle. Her head hung forward, as did her arms and legs. As they dashed up to the stables and Loki jumped down with her in his arms, she made no motion, no sound at all.

"The Queen!" Loki shouted as soon as he entered the Palace. "Send her to me at once!" He didn't wait but carried Natasha to his old dungeon rooms, where the little orchestra of mice on the mantel played a beautiful, melancholy tune. It didn't help his mood when he realized it was Greensleeves.

Carefully he put her on the bed and smoothed back the red strands from her face. Except for the slight rise and fall of her chest, she might have been a corpse. As he stood, Frigga hurried into the room. "Loki!" she gasped. "You are back so soon – but look! you have found her."

"So soon? We have been away an age – a series of ages, Mother. I chased her through nine separate worlds, as you told me I would have to."

"But they were separate strands of time. Here in Asgard, you were only gone a matter of hours. Still, no matter. Did you secure the nine pieces?"

"No!" Loki shouted and flung one arm out, indicating Natasha. "I was so close. She received eight of the segments - but the last one was stolen, and by that foul witch, Angrboda."

"By Angrboda!" Frigga paced the room, one hand on her chin. "Loki, why? I suppose I could understand the reason for her trying to sabotage your betrothal to Natasha, but why this continued obsession with you? She disappeared centuries ago! You had many affairs since, with Aesir and Vanir alike, and yet naught a hint of her until now."

"I think I know why, but let us speak of it later. Mother, have a look at her. Is there a chance we can bring Natasha back?  _Truly_  back to my side?"

The Queen joined him at the bedside and picked up one limp wrist. Using great caution, she unrolled Natasha's fingers to reveal a little pile of coloured squares.

Loki snatched them up and counted, his breath surging in his chest. "Eight, just as we thought." Carefully he set out the pieces on the table by the bed to form the picture of Natasha, all there except for her secret smile. Her blue eyes regarded him with a knowing expression. "One missing. Can I bring her back without the last?"

Frigga shook her head. "Alas, no. She will sleep here until we can no longer feed her, and then…" She bit off her words with a grim shake of her head.

Loki wanted to break all the glass in the room, cry out, throw himself off the highest roof, refuse food himself, drown in hunger along with his wife.  _What good would that do, dumbass?_ the eyes in the photo seemed to say.  _Get your shit together like I told you, and find that final piece._

His mother regarded him warily. "Loki," she said, "what are you going to do?"

"For once in my life, nothing foolish. However, I need to find Angrboda and confront her once and for all, put an end to this darkness in our lives. And in order to do so, I must away to Helheim first."

Frigga nodded with perfect understanding. "I will sit with Natasha while you do."

* * *

Loki transported himself to the shores of the Sea of Marmora along Valhalla. There was a passage to Helheim close, but he knew once he entered the fabled realm the Valkyries would set on him; there was certainly little love lost between him and the warrior maidens. He cursed his misspent youth and not for the first or last time; he was beginning to see how so much mischief made things incredibly complicated later on. Would it stop him in the future? He had to admit probably not, but it  _was_  something to think about.

Once he arrived, the passage to Hel was close by Valhalla. The last time he was in the realm of the Dead he had undergone torture and was offered redemption by Thanos. At the time, his hair was on fire and his teeth were falling out with heat exhaustion; he was so desperate he had agreed to the creature's terms of survival. Naturally, his troubles had multiplied from that moment on.

The passage to Helheim appeared in different ways according to several things: the season, the time of the present Odinsleep, the person approaching it. Loki saw it now as a trembling shade, a shadow he would have to enter. Without hesitating he strode through the shivering dark and was stopped by a giantess, a woman with one flashing, lustrous eye. The other was an empty socket, set into a skull.

"Father," Hela greeted him. "Have you returned for good this time?"

"No. Hela, I must beg you for one hair from your head. Will you give it to me?"

His daughter regarded him for a long moment. "I suppose it is another piece of your mischief," she said at last. "Invading a realm? Stealing dwarf gelt? Which is it?"

"Saving a life," he replied shortly. "Take a century off mine as payment – you would do me a favour in any case."

"Done," she replied instantly. Hela wound one long strand of hair around her finger, tugged it from her scalp, and handed it to her father. Loki took the curl carefully and put it inside a layer of his jacket.

He gave her two kisses, one on the beautiful side of her face, one on the bare bone. Both halves had always been equal in his eyes.

* * *

When he reappeared in the bedroom, Frigga sat reading a long scroll. She looked up as Loki strode in, holding up the curl of long, dark hair. "Perfect," she commented. "Now, we shall have to do a summoning spell. Do you remember?"

"Of course." He strode to the fireside. "I learned from the best."

Frigga tossed the hair into the fire, and she took Loki's hand. Together they chanted the complicated words, and he bent down to trace an ornate pattern in the glowing ashes. If the heat hurt him, son of ice and frost, he never made a sound.

The orchestra of mice squeaked and hid behind a stout clock on the mantel. Frigga didn't move. Natasha, on the bed, breathed softly. A sudden breeze made the ivy tap against the window.

Loki felt numb. He had Natasha's body back in his bed, but her smile, her wit, her breathtaking intelligence – they were all gone. After a chase through nine ages, finding her in each and winning her each time, their life together was ended, unless somehow he could find the witch –

There was a loud bang, and a column of smoke shot up behind them. Frigga swore with words Loki had never heard her use before, but he was too angry to say anything himself. When the cloud dissipated, Angrboda stood in the room, looming between them and the bed.

"Husband." She tossed back her long, dark hair. The witch had glamoured herself, and she looked impossibly young and beautiful in a low-cut, form-fitting dress.

"No longer," Loki snapped, but for one frightful moment he remembered what had attracted him to Angrboda in the first place.

"A query if I may," Frigga interjected. "Why? Your marriage ended centuries ago. Why do you care about what happens to my son?" The witch gave her a long, withering stare as though she disdained to answer, and a sneering smile spread across her face.

"My mother asked you a question. This is your last chance before I take your worthless life." Loki spat the words.

"I bore your children, Loki. When no one else wanted you, I was the one who stood by you …"

"…And betrayed me with one of my own friends. That argument will not stand." Loki felt his temper flame. "Furthermore, this little jaunt through time, courtesy of your witchcraft, revealed to me that there  _was_  one who wanted me. Natasha was there in my youth, and you removed her from my life by the Unwinding in order to have me for your own. Did you not?  _Did you not?"_

Frigga sucked in her breath. "Unwinding? Is this true?"

"Enough." Angrboda pointed to Loki. "And now it is time to reconnect, husband. Time to come with me, and I will work another Unwinding. The impostor wife shall disappear, and our cycle will begin again..."

Her eyes fluttered as though in shock, and she stopped speaking.

A slim arm slipped around Angrboda's neck, and Natasha's face, filled with grim purpose, appeared beside Angrboda's. "Not happening," the redhead said. "Not today." She flicked her fingers, and a deadly little blade appeared in her hand; with one short, swift stroke she drew it across Angrboda's neck.

The witch stood upright, not moving. A black line appeared under her chin, and an explosion of black blood shot out from the wound. Natasha released her and Angrboda slid to the floor, jerking and uttering a horrible, chittering scream: "Uh-uh-uh-uh-UNH!" Her arms scratched at the slash across her throat as she tried to draw breath.

"Now, Loki!" Natasha cried.

Frigga and Loki both held up their palms. A bolt of green light shot up from his; gold emanated from the Queen's hand. The beams combined to form a strange colour that filled Angrboda's body with inner flames. They licked her hair, bulged from her eyes, curled from her mouth.

The witch rose in the air, slammed onto the ground, rose again. The terrifying noises from her mouth grew louder until Loki had to cover his ears. There was one final Whump as the body hit the ground.

Flailed. Flopped like a dying fish.

Grew still.

Loki recovered his wits and looked at Natasha. "What…? I thought you were in a faint - that you could not move. How did you do that?"

"I knew if I gave a single sign I could hear and speak, you would tip her off somehow. Somehow Angrboda was always in your head, and you would have tipped her off. And, if you recall, a long time ago I told you I would slit the throat of anyone who tried to come between us." She jumped down and started to search Angrboda's clothes. "Now we have to find that missing piece of our little puzzle. Get your ass over here, Mischief."

Frigga exclaimed. "That was the neatest dagger work it has ever been my privilege to see. Will you be well, Natasha?"

"No, since I'm missing one-ninth of myself at the moment. It  _has_  to be here somewhere." Natasha frantically searched for pockets, a hidden fold where the piece could be tucked away.

"Give me your dagger." Loki took the sharp little knife from Natasha and slammed it into Angrboda's chest, cut into the sternum where the witch's heart, presumably, lay.

"Gods!' Frigga got on her knees. "Do you think she would have hidden it inside her body?"

"Angrboda may have guessed my motives at every turn, but I also know the way  _she_  thinks. Er, thought." Loki grimaced with disgust, dug his hand into the chest, and produced the tiny square.

"Okay, that's really weird. Okay? I've seen a lot of strange shit in my time, but a puzzle piece hidden inside a heart wins all the awards." Natasha frowned at the black liquid dripping from Loki's hand. "Uh, any chance you can swiffer this up? Angrboda smells even worse when she's dead."

"Swiffer?" Frigga asked.

"It is a Midgardian cleaning device." Loki murmured an incantation, and the body of Angrboda as well as the blood on the floor and his hand disappeared. He was left holding the final piece of the picture – the one showing Natasha's smile. With a shout of triumph, he rose and carefully placed it with the other eight pieces – thus completing the picture at last.

Natasha collapsed on the bed. Frigga put one hand on her heart. And Loki, uncertainty in his eyes, approached his wife.

"Are you – do you feel – do you need anything?" he asked.

She sat up and thrust an accusing finger at him. "You mean  _after_  you gave me a glass full of poison, sent me spiraling throughout the ages, put me in the way of an Unwinding Spell twice, and littered the bedroom floor with the corpse of a troll? Do I need anything after all that except a swift kick to your raggedy ass? Is  _that_  what you mean to ask?"

"You know, I believe I need to seek my husband's advice on an important matter, if you two will excuse me." Frigga rose and left the room, her hurried footsteps echoing in the passage outside the room.

Natasha was too angry to notice. She jumped off the pillows, put her fists on her hips, and stalked forward to glare at the god of mischief. "Well?" she shouted.  _"Is it?"_

Loki felt her warm breath on his neck, saw the fury in her eyes; his own wild blood still boiled from the recent kill in the room. "I see you have selected the very worst to say of me. No need to mention that I just chased you throughout time, went to Helheim and back, and gave up a century of my life to find the whelp you just dispatched on our bedroom floor." His nostrils flared.

"Nicely done, by the way," he added in a somewhat milder tone.

Natasha's eyes grew huge as she considered his words. "You gave a century of your life for me? What does that even mean?"

"I needed something to connect to Angrboda in order to summon her. Hela's hair was the first thing I thought of, and she asked for one hundred of my years in payment. I could have bargained with Jorgsmundir for a fang or a scale, I suppose, but I didn't think of it. Besides, Helheim was the easiest and fastest place to reach."

Her shoulders slumped. "Jesus. You bargain with your own life as well, not just mine."

Loki knew the next few minutes would be vitally important. Countless times he had relied on his silver tongue to save him, and this was no different. Casually lighting the wood stacked in the fireplace with one flick of his fingers, he asked, "Do you wonder what happened to them?"

Natasha hunched one shoulder irritably. "To whom?"

"To those Lokis and Natashas we left behind in the different ages we traveled. That Viking lad and his lass, for example." Cautiously he sat in the large, padded chair by the fire, spreading his legs wide and gazing up at her. "I like to think he took her back to his homeland where she was welcomed by his mother. They were so young, so naïve – it is nice to imagine them having babies, isn't it? Discovering the hidden fires in each other, growing old together, reading the manuscripts she gave him from the stone keep at night and perhaps writing a few of their own."

She snorted. "From what I've read of the ways of Vikings, I'm certain he had a few mistresses on the side."

"No." Loki shook his head with conviction. "She would have been more than enough for him, with her spirit and temper. One lifetime would not have been enough to plumb the depths and heights of her soul." He patted the cushions next to him, and with a show of reluctance Natasha sat, keeping as much distance as possible between them. "It is what I thought, after the first time we talked in Stark Tower. Do you remember? I started with the intention of seducing you for a few hours in my bed, and by nighttime I knew a mere century would not be enough for us."

"Hm. And what of the wicked Count?"

Loki's face lit up with laughter. "Did you enjoy that age? I did, more than I can say. They collected dogs and traveled to Paris together, of course, where she became both his mistress and wife every night."

Natasha's eyes softened; hope seared his chest that she was enjoying the stories he spun. "And the Pirate Queen sailed the seas with the Heiress," she added. "They shared that stateroom and made love in every port."

He couldn't help sucking in his breath at that thought. "Gods, you were luscious in that age. Wearing the nightgown you found in the trunk – so sheer I could have poked my finger through it." Caution made him forebear from touching Natasha just yet, although her smooth thighs under her dress were unbearably tempting. "But my favourite was the last adventure. You were so strong, so calm as you helped me heal from my own foolishness – so much like my Natasha."

"Your Natasha is still plenty pissed." She regarded the flames for a long moment. "However, I  _might_  be less angry with a bottle of vodka and some food."

Instantly a small table appeared, spread with her favourite caviar and chilled Purus. "Of course, darling – all you need to do is ask." Loki poured them both a drink and edged his arm along the back of the chair. "Actually, all the ages turned out well for us. Even the vampire expired with his true love, which is the way to go, I suppose…"

"Exactly! That's what I'm trying to get through the seven inches of skull right here." She tapped his forehead and sipped the Purus, her eyes becoming blue slits. "However, what about your childhood in Asgard? That was interesting. Sad, but interesting."

"Yes, and I think it was the key to the entire affair." Loki took a sip and put the glass on the table. He glanced at the mantel, and the mouse orchestra struck up the slow, soft version of Greensleeves again. "If you were truly my first love in one possible age and Angrboda did an Unwinding to banish you from my life, she must have been horrorstruck when you reappeared centuries later at my side in Asgard. I have the feeling that is why she reappeared at our betrothal and why she sent us the apples. That explains why she was there with the hypodermic in the last adventure, and the reason for the anonymous notes in the one before that. It was always her."

"No happy ending for young Loki and his innocent Natasha in their white tent." Natasha drank thoughtfully, gazing into the fire.

"Nonsense, darling." Loki smirked as he allowed his sweet words and silver tongue to bring him to the conclusion he wanted, had foreseen from the start. " _We_  are their happy ending right here in this room, this very moment. Do you not see?"

She looked at him with a slight gasp. "No way! I cannot believe it – I just let you charm me! You really are a rascal, you know that?"

"But you told me you did not want the god of folded napkins and thank you notes when we were married." His lips spread in a grin, and Natasha's dimple peeped out between the corner of her mouth and her chin. "And you do not want to leave those poor youngsters lonely and without each other, do you?" Loki cupped her face, tipped it up insistently. "Do you?"

Natasha frowned. "I don't…" Her hand wavered, and vodka spilled down the front of her dress. "Damn. Could you possibly help me out here?"

"Of course." Loki licked his lips, and the dress disappeared. "Here we go, darling – all better."

She jumped up. "That's not what I meant at all, and you know it!"

"Oh, I am sorry! Look, I will get rid of my own clothes, to make you more comfortable." Loki stood, entirely naked. "There. See? No harm done."

Spluttering with rage, Natasha waved a finger in his face. "Wipe that smile off your face! And don't think you can just – put me down – where are you taking me - oof!"

She landed on the bed with Loki on top of her, and she struggled within his grasp as he drew her closer with insistent hands. "Killing an enemy always gets my blood racing," he murmured in her ear. "Does it have the same effect on you?"

Her direct, blue eyes gazed into his, and she grew quiet. "That kick of adrenaline," Natasha mused. "Yes, it – mmmm."

Loki kissed her, darting his tongue into her mouth, felt himself grow erect immediately as she responded, as they both always knew she would eventually. "You and I realize I am a thorough rascal," he whispered. "This much is true. But there was no chance I would lose you again." Trailing his hand over her breasts, stomach, thighs, between her legs, he watched as Natasha's body betrayed her, as her skin shivered beneath his touch. "Will we have a happy ending? Will we?" His voice surged in her ear, and with a wild intake of breath Natasha pulled him on top of her, wound her legs around his.

"I suppose after fucking you for a thousand years I can't stop now." She bit his neck, rubbed against his hard length.

"No, of course not – Natasha!" Loki's eyes popped as her fingers wrapped around his shaft, guided him into her, wrapped his base to tickle him as she plunged beneath. "You keep getting naughtier in each age…"

"That's so meaningful, coming from you. Oh, yes! Now ride it, baby, just like that." She bit his ear, sucked on his neck.

"Gods, the feel of you," he groaned. "When you tighten around me – yes, that is the way – and I know I am going to spend my seed so soon inside your sweetness, and it feels so right, better than anything else…"

She moaned, lifted her hips so he could slide in even deeper. "You're impossible. So impossible that I can't seem to be able to stay away from you – I want more and more, Loki."

"Then take me!" he cried, thrusting into her to spurt inside, feeling the impossible ecstasy of orgasm within her. It was like nothing else in any realm, any age.

They collapsed in each other's arms, lay for several minutes as they fought to catch their breath. Loki lifted her hand and kissed the finger that wore his silver ring with the moonstone.

Natasha leaned on one elbow and pointed at the photograph on the tiny bedside table. She had given it to him the first time she visited those very rooms, and he had carried it through nine ages. "Look," she whispered.

The tiny pieces shivered, and like drops of quicksilver they resolved into one smiling image.

Natasha of Asgard was back.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is: the end of the Natasha of Asgard trilogy. Thanks once again for all the lovely notes and kudos - wish I could spirit us all across the Bifrost to Asgard for a huge party with the Aesir. 
> 
> I'll be posting a oneshot to Letters from Asgard this week. After that I have several ideas to work on, which will take a little while to research, write up and thoroughly edit. I want to do it right for those wonderful characters and for YOU - the best readers ever.


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